I Hate the Rich Kids
by v4mp
Summary: Love is a learned behavior.
1. Chapter 1

**[[a/n: i don't know why i wrote this or where i intended to go with it, i just kinda started writing whatever.]]**

Part One

I wasn't supposed to be smoking. Preps don't smoke cigarettes because it's not high class or something. At least that's what Derby says. Cigars are fine, according to him, because they're expensive. But cigarettes are for poor people.

I did it anyways, paying no mind to anything the other Preps would say. But I did hide it from them, you know. Status and all that. Pinky and Tad knew about my habit and were indifferent, so long as I didn't do it near them, but the other Preps wouldn't approve.

Keeping up with my habit was a real burden. Getting the smell out of my clothes and keeping my breath fresh, walking down to New Coventry at the right time of night to find a shady adult willing to buy them for me whilst remaining undetected by the Greasers. But, all things considered, I truly believed the trouble was worth it.

Cigarettes were incredible, so reviving, so uplifting. After a long, stressful day at school there was nothing of this Earth that could relax me so much as a long drag on a cigarette. It was such a rejuvenating sensation, inhaling the smoke, feeling my lungs expand around it, holding it in until I began to feel lightheaded, and exhaling all of my troubles. It was as though my insides were resting in an armchair by a warm fireplace with a glass of bourbon in hand. So comfortable. Cigars were too formal for the purpose, if you ask me.

I started out with half of a cigarette a day, then moved on to two, and eventually three or four. I was at the point now where I couldn't maintain a pack for more than a few days. It was a problem, I knew that. But what was I going to do? Stop smoking? Yeah, right. Giving up such an exhilarating experience was unthinkable.

I'd estimate that I spent about three percent of my monthly allowance on cigarettes, and the percentage was gradually increasing. Maybe even four percent if I should choose to include the amount I pay the adult willing to buy them for me. A pack of quality cigarettes was seven or eight dollars at most, and I'd usually give them a twenty and tell them to keep the change. Twenty dollars wasn't much to me anyways.

Going to New Coventry was the only part I questioned. I hated going down there. It was nerve-wracking. But the adults around Old Bullworth Vale were untrustworthy. They were sure to expose me to my parents should I ask them. The ones in New Coventry weren't very reliable either; there had been many times when the adult I asked agreed to buy them for me but instead ran off with my money. But at least there was a chance that they would follow through. And none of them knew my parents, so who would they tell?

Still, I hated going down there. Hopkins had suggested I ask the Townies to buy me cigarettes instead, which was _absurd_. They weren't exactly our clique's allies. And on top of that they were disgusting. I told myself that I would refuse to associate with them for any purpose whatsoever.

But…

They'd always loiter down by the carnival at night, next to the fence by the ticket stand. They always minded their own business, unless someone should come too close. No one ever did though; everyone knew better than to bother the Townies. I knew better as well, but I was also a stupid Preppy desperate for a puff that didn't have his priorities sorted properly.

I mean, they were _right there_. There shouldn't be a reason for me to go all the way down to the bad side of town at such an obscene hour when the Townies were _right there_, should there be?

Oh my, was the air heavy on the night I first approached them. Or maybe it was just me.

With weak knees and a twenty clenched firmly in my hands, I started forward. Baby steps_._ I was noticed once I was about five feet from them, and they simultaneously turned from their circle to face me. None of them said anything. They merely looked at me with their jaws tightened and arms folded over their chests.

I cleared my throat. "Um, h-hello." I smiled, an attempt at masking the fact that I was terrified.

Still no response from them.

"C-Can I ask one of you…" I chose my words carefully. "…one of you _gentlemen_ for a favor?"

One of the Townies was significantly short, maybe an inch or two shorter than me. And I was significantly short, around five foot four. He wore a white shirt and the absolute worst jeans I had ever seen in my life, discolored and unclean. He may have been the least intimidating, but he was still terribly disgusting. Yet somehow I couldn't look away. I mean, he wasn't much of a looker; I wasn't attracted to him in the least. At least not in a lustful way. He just… interested me.

Maybe it was the gauntlets. He reminded me of a barbarian.

"Whaddya want, rich boy?" a big one in hideous camo jeans questioned me in the most nasally voice I had ever heard in my life.

They all waited, but it took me a moment to realize they were waiting for me.

"Uh- I was wondering if…" Their eyes were so _hostile_. "I mean, if it won't be too much trouble…"

The short one in the white shirt began to smirk. "How old are you, like twelve?"

I froze, unsure exactly how to respond. "Um… No," I managed to choke out.

They all found that amusing.

"Little kids shouldn't be out this late at night asking strangers to buy them smokes."

My breath hitched. My, the air was _heavy_.

The short one rolled his eyes and groaned. "Look kid, I'll do it 'cause I want your money."

I was taken aback. "Y-You will?" They all scoffed at my enthusiasm, but I couldn't help it. I hadn't expected this to be so easy. "Thank you so much!"

"Whatever." He gestured me to follow him towards his bike, and he drove me with him over to the gas station.

* * *

I inadvertently came out to my mother when I was a mere six years old, before I even knew what homosexuality was. It was a summer morning, and she had woken up to the note I left her taped to my parents' bathroom mirror. It said something along the lines of 'Mom, I'm running away to join the Spice Girls. Love, Gord.' It seemed like a good idea; I would fit right in. They were pretty and wore cute clothes, I was pretty and wore cute clothes. They were truly people of my breed. The ones around here weren't up to my standards.

I decided that day it was time to make my move, after all I was six years old and not getting any younger. I packed up everything of importance to me (four large suitcases and a duffle bag of designer clothing and expensive toys I'd be foolish to leave behind) and made my way out into the real world.

I didn't make it far; my mother had spotted me before I was able to make it a block from our house. I was at the park sitting under the gazebo, probably out of breath from carrying my luggage in such heat. She took a seat next to me and tried to convince me that I couldn't be a Spice Girl because I was a boy, and I retorted by telling her I could be just as fabulous and girly as any of them.

From then on, I think she knew that I'd grow up to be gay. Too bad I didn't. It came as a shock to me.

I never had a girlfriend prior to age fifteen. I never really looked at girls like that, and I never thought anything of it. I just… didn't. I had no other explanation. I looked at _boys_, of course, but it was more out of curiosity than sexual gratification. I never, _ever_ thought anything of it. I thought it was normal, as it did come naturally to me. Foolishly, I figured _everyone_ must be this way.

My first girlfriend, if you could call her that, was a trashy strumpet named Lola. She was using me for my money, and I was well aware. It didn't matter because I was using her, too.

I never once looked her in the eyes during out dates. I couldn't. I didn't feel bad or guilty about anything, it was nothing like that. It just felt… wrong. Looking at her directly in the face. I believe it was during our third or fourth outing that I noticed something about her, and learned something about myself.

She reminded me of a boy. I mean, the dear girl wasn't masculine or boyish in physique or anything of that nature. Looking at her, she was obviously female. But she did have a certain essence about her which was associated more with boys. It was that essence and that essence alone which drew me towards her.

Maybe it was because she was poor. Maybe all poor girls share qualities of their male counterparts. She was rugged and tough and assertive and real. She cared about feminine things, like hair and her clothes, but it was to a much lesser extent than with the other girls in my life.

Pinky, for example, one of my closest friends, was blatantly feminine. She was bouncy and bubbly and oh-so peppy. I loved Pinky, but I knew for a fact that I was not attracted to her in any romantic way, shape, or form. I wasn't exactly sure why; she was a very pretty girl. But it was then that the reason dawned on me. Pinky was so… Pinky. And Lola was so… Lola.

It came to me like an epiphany. The reason I wanted anything to do with her was because she _reminded me of a boy_. I didn't like her, I was using her. I was living out my masculine longing through her because I didn't understand that I was attracted to boys. I truly did believe that I like-liked her. But, I didn't. And that was it. There wasn't any more thought needed to be put into it.

I never had the chance to break it off with her myself, because Hopkins more or less did it for us. Thank heavens. I'd never broken up with anyone before. I would've felt awful although I knew she didn't like me like that. She really was a nice girl. Well, as nice as a manipulative, trashy slut could be. I didn't want to admit that I had been using her, despite that I hadn't realized it at first. Our next date would be our last, and that was the end of our era. We didn't see each other anymore after that, other than fleeting glances in the hall or out by the courtyard.

If my tone comes off as somber, forgive me, but it was a heavy moment for me. Not the breaking up with Lola, I hardly cared of that. The realization that I liked boys, that's what was heavy.

I waited a week or so before I decided that I wanted to tell someone. Pinky was the first one I told because I figured she would be understanding and accepting, which she was. She watched a lot of those fashion reality shows on TLC and Lifetime hosted by flamboyant gay males, and verbally admired quite a few of them.

I came out to her during an episode of Project Runway (the grand season finale, to be precise). We were watching television in the Harrington House leisure room. She was fully focused on the show, eager to hear the finalists or winner or whatever was going on, but once I vocalized that sentence-_Pinky, I like boys_-I achieved her full attention.

I think the idea of having a gay best friend thrilled her at first, judging from the glint of happiness sparkling in her eyes. She clapped her hands together and brought them to her grinning mouth, straightening her back as though preparing to jump off the sofa. She made a very Pinky-esque squealing noise and happily bounced up and down in her seat.

I think the fear of objectifying me was what brought her down from her high, or perhaps the face I was giving signaled her to calm down. Her posture relaxed and her smile started to fade, her hands moving down to her lap and eyes meeting mine. She wanted to know how I knew, and I explained everything to her. The mood lightened when she made a joke about how kissing Lola could probably make _any_ guy gay.

And I laughed.

"Well Gord, I won't tell anybody. It isn't my business to tell. Promise!"

She told Derby later that day, who told Bif and Bryce after a boxing match, and eventually the chain kept going until most of the preps knew. And it all went on behind my back, too. How impolite. Tad, another friend who I held dearly, remained the only one who hadn't heard the big news, so I managed to tell him myself. He didn't understand completely. It was partially my fault for how I had worded it.

I pulled him aside in the hallway on our way to class and asked if I could speak to him. I didn't know Tad's stance on homosexuality, so I wasn't sure how he'd react, but he was one of my dearest friends and I wanted him to know regardless.

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. "Tad…"

He stared at me attentively. "Is something wrong?"

"Tad… I need to tell you something…"

He gave a light laugh. "Well, don't keep me waiting."

Here goes nothing.

"I'm not quite sure how to tell you this… but…"

His face was so close to mine that we could kiss, but the mood wasn't right for any of that.

"I'm a friend of Dorothy."

He didn't say anything for a moment, and we stood there staring at each other as the rest of the world moved behind us.

"Who's Dorothy?"

I was more frank with him after school. Honestly, I think he expected it, even after all of that nonsense with Lola. He still didn't say much, but it was more because he didn't see a point behind saying anything. It was out there, what else needed to be said?

I was fortunate to be wealthy. Wealthy people can afford to be flamboyant and eccentric, like me. Anyone who would have a problem with it is below me, living under the soles of my Aquaberry loafers. I own those people, and they have no say in that. Wealthy people have more important things to worry about than what others do behind closed doors, like what those people were wearing that day and how much money they have. When word got around to the other cliques, I wasn't even concerned with what they would say because they would always be beneath me.

I had since gone on a few dates with the boys from school. Hopkins (good kisser he is, indeed) took me to the carnival. He wouldn't let me hold his hand, though he had no problem groping me in public. Trent Northwick and I went to the movies where he eventually got us kicked out for harassing the people in the row in front of ours. That Kirby boy, although _he_ was the one who had asked _me_ out, only agreed to it if we did something in private. His idea of a date apparently is me watching him at football practice and making out behind the bleachers afterwards, and then proceeding to threaten my life should I tell anyone.

My friends managed to hook me up with rich boys from neighboring towns, and we went on _grand_ dates. One took me out for dinner on his father's yacht and got angry at me for not wanting to discuss stocks during our romantic evening. Another insisted we went shopping, which one might think would always count as a good date in my book, though he refused to shut up about his horses or whatever on Earth he was bragging about. But, to be fair, they were very nice boys.

They were all nice boys in fact, even the threatening Kirby, but I didn't have any long-term interest in any of them. I'd been on plenty of first dates but none of them met the standards required for a second. Hopkins had such an attitude, and Kirby was so vain. Trent did ask me on another, but I turned him down as politely as I could to the boy who had gotten me kicked out of a movie theater, of all places.

The rich boys were too… familiar. They were nice and sweet and all of that noise, but I was too used to their mannerisms. There was no excitement. It was boring. There's no hope in a boring relationship. To me, the point behind a romantic relationship is achieving something emotional from that person that friends can't give you, for some sort of new experience. Searching for something like that is futile when the ones you are searching among are exactly like your friends.

So, long story short, I'd never been on a second date with a boy.

Trent, Kirby, and Hopkins were too caught up in appearing strong to let their emotional selves shine through. There's a rough stigma that emotional men are weak. The same went for the rich boys. They were obsessed with appearing stable, always a fake smile plastered on their faces to convey the illusion that they didn't have any emotions interfering with their stability. It was a reputation thing.

I'm rambling, I'm terribly sorry. To sum everything up, I wanted a nice boy who didn't feel as though he were liable to hide his feelings and wasn't a loser. In a town like Bullworth, that boy was a rarity.


	2. Chapter 2

I never asked, but the Townie kid told me that his name was Duncan. It wasn't until after he had handed me my pack of cigarettes that he said anything to me. And it was a simple sentence: "I'm Duncan, by the way."

I didn't properly introduce myself in turn; my mouth was too occupied to speak. At the very moment he extended his arm to hand me my pack I fervently tore it open and began to smoke. I needed it desperately. He stood there, third wheeling to me and the skinny little friend pressed between my lips, as though there were something else he was needed for.

I realized it was the company of his much larger friends that had given him that intimidating air earlier. Alone with him, I felt much stronger, much more in control. Which I should have been. He was weak and small and poor and probably couldn't do a thing to harm me. His friends, on the other hand, could and likely wouldn't hesitate to do so.

It was silent between the two of us as we stood in the empty gas station parking lot. The quiet hum of electricity from the street lights and whistling of the nighttime wind - or perhaps that was me exhaling - were the only sounds preventing my ears from ringing. The Townie kid was completely silent, completely still. He held his hands in his pockets and let his head hang. I had no clue what was keeping him around. I had my cigarettes and he had my change. We were finished.

I shot him a glare behind a puff of smoke. "You can leave now." His presence was bothering me.

"Oh, I'm dismissed?" he scoffed.

"Yes, now go back to your trailer park, Trash Heap."

"Thanks, Rich Boy." One last smirk, then he hopped on his bike and pedaled off, back towards the carnival. And that was it. He was gone. Thank heavens. My first cigarette of the night only lasted that long, so I made a mental note to myself to focus on preserving my pack so I wouldn't have to associate with the Townies too often. They were a strange breed.

But I was satisfied. That was so much easier than going to New Coventry.

Satisfied as I was, I needed to get back to Harrington House.

As I started back towards the school, I glanced at my watch. It was involuntary; I didn't really read the time, just sort of looked at it. I was well aware that it was past curfew by now; I didn't need a clock to tell me that. If the prefects were to catch me out I would simply pay them off. No big deal.

I smoked another cigarette as I walked. I needed to plan out my actions and they always helped me think. I knew of a hidden pathway behind the school fences that would get me to Harrington House hopefully unnoticed, and once I arrived I had to shower and change clothes to hide the smoke smell. Once all of that was done I had to message my father to let him know that my credit card had not been maxed out after all, then...

_Whack_.

I was face down on the pavement.

I wasn't entirely sure _where _I had been hit, but it felt like the back of my head, and I wasn't certain with what, but it felt rather hard. I was next to the dirt road near the motel when I fell, and it didn't hurt, at least not terribly, but I was _not _a happy Gord.

A growl which frightened even me escaped my throat as I pushed myself onto my feet. "_Who_ has the _nerve_..."

I whipped around, ready to give my attacker a piece of my mind.

"You shouldn't smoke. It's bad for you."

My breath caught, and he smirked, bending over to pick up the baseball rolling to his feet.

Justin Vandervelde and I weren't close. In fact, we hardly spoke with each other. If he and I weren't of the same clique I'd be reluctant to call us friends. But we were of the same clique, and because of that I did consider him a friend of mine. Well, to an extent.

He was a lanky brunette with too much overbite to match his overflowing timidity when faced with a real challenge. Justin was a senior when I was still a junior, eighteen when I was a mere months away from being sixteen. Because of his seniority, he wasn't hesitant to pick on me, despite the 'pick on someone your own size' rule he seemed so keen on when threatened himself.

I was quite shocked to see him out here at this hour, but not as much as I was embarrassed for a fellow Prep to catch me smoking.

"W-What..." I realized my cigarette was no longer in my possession. It was in the street, still burning.

He nodded towards the cigarette. "Smoking is bad for you," he repeated, still smirking at me.

"No, I mean... Why on Earth are you out here? Were you following me?"

He chuckled. "Well, I wasn't. But I couldn't help but notice such a high class child exchanging words with some homeless kid in the gas station parking lot. I wanted to compliment your sweater."

I glared. "That doesn't explain why you're out here."

He and I continued to walk back to campus as we spoke. Apparently, he had been vandalizing tenements in New Coventry. Egging the buildings, tossing baseballs into their windows, things of that nature. That was Justin, alright. He loved harassing the Greasers more than any of us. It made him feel good about himself.

We both stayed in Harrington House during the school year, and we both lived in Old Bullworth Vale during the summer. We had grown up in the same environment and I had known him for quite a while now. Well, when I say I've known him, I really mean that we've both been aware of each other's existence for quite a while. We had never actually hung out together, so I didn't 'know' him.

"Don't you think it's dangerous for a scrawny boy like you to be out here all alone?" he asked me once we reached the school gates.

He was so bothersome. "I think I can handle myself, Vandervelde," I retorted in a matter of fact manner.

He snorted.

Justin didn't take me seriously. I didn't believe that it was because I was younger than him, since Tad was my age and Justin was quite respectful to him. He just didn't view me as an equal. The two of us hardly interacted but when we did he was always teasing me, calling me weak and scrawny, and once or twice describing me as effeminate. He was an annoying one.

We entered the school gates and made our way towards the courtyard, dodging into the shadows to hide from prefects when necessary. The two of us remained silent until we reached the Harrington House doors.

"Well," he started, stepping in front of me to prevent my entering the building. "While I trust you're capable of handling yourself-" His tone was laced with sarcasm. "-the next time you decide to do business with the poor kids, I suggest bringing backup."

He smirked and opened the door, stepping halfway inside. "Shouldn't you hose off first?"

"Well, Justin, I _was _planning on showering once I got inside."

"No, you'll stink up the bathrooms. Go roll around in the fountain instead."

I glared at him, too tired to think of anything to respond with.

He laughed, and stepped aside to let me in.

He was so annoying.

* * *

It was still the beginning of the year, and the dreadful heat from summer vacation still lingered in the air. Harrington House was kept air conditioned, but the school building was not. Reasonable teachers like Galloway liked to hold their classes outdoors, but unfortunately not every teacher was that kind.

So, why go?

Tad and I decided to cut out after first period to head down to Glass Jaw, primarily because of the air conditioning. It was too hot to participate in any actual boxing.

Or at least that's what I had planned on telling everyone, should I be challenged.

Honestly, I hadn't boxed in over a year. Physically, I didn't believe I could. I was beginning to develop smoker's lungs and I was afraid it'd kill me. I had been paying off Burton to avoid gym, and making excuses wherever money couldn't get me out of exercising. Was it a pain? Of course. But what else was I to do?

I knew that blaming the heat on my lack of activity was a sad excuse, especially since we were in an air conditioned building. But that was the excuse I had.

Tad and I made ourselves comfortable in the gym wet bar. Tad fixed me and him some drinks while I watched the boxing ring from the overlooking window. Justin was there, fighting Bryce. Justin was big on sports and he was quite the notable boxer. He was such a scraggy-looking thing, all skin and bone. If I hadn't known for a fact how good he was, I would have never believed that he was talented at sports. He had no meat on him, no muscle.

"Hey," came Tad's voice from behind me. I turned to face him. "Want your drink or what?"

He pressed the glass into my chest. It was just an iced water. That's all I asked for. I had no clue what Tad was drinking, but it looked like something I'd usually have: brightly colored and fruity.

"I tell you, Gord," he started as we seated ourselves on the sofa. "You got me hooked on these pomegranate drinks."

Virgin drinks they were, but pretending made us feel classier.

"Glad I could help."

I knew that I had laughed, but I must have sounded down. "What's wrong?"

"Hm? Nothing's wrong."

"Well, that's good then. I was afraid you'd pass away in your room last night." He chuckled.

I stared at him. "Pardon?"

"Well, you went to your room fairly early last night and didn't come out at all until this morning. We were all worried you'd die in there."

Oh! That's right. That previous night I had told everyone I was feeling sick and not to disturb me. Of course I wasn't; that was my excuse to slip out to find the Townies without being reported missing.

"Oh, yeah, well…"

He laughed. "You run out of smokes quickly, I must say."

I was an easy book for Tad to read.

"Oh my, I actually had to ask those dropout kids to buy them for me."

He made a bitter face. "Eugh, those children are terrible."

"Yes, but as terrible as they are, asking them is far easier than walking down to the Greasers' territory."

Tad nodded, as though he could imagine.

"I passed Justin on my way back to the school. He told me he was vandalizing the Greasers but I have this suspicion that he was…" I paused to take a sip from my water.

"That he was what?"

And I almost choked.

Tad turned to look at him in the doorway. "Oh, Justin! What's up?"

He was in his robe, his hands still wrapped in boxing tape and hair sticking to his forehead from sweat.

"Not too much. I came up to get some water." He gave me a smirk.

I was _dreadfully_ uncomfortable. I watched him intently as he sauntered over to the bar. He knew I was uncomfortable, I could tell by the way he moved. There was a certain cockiness in his step.

"How about that match? Who won?"

"I let Bryce win because I feel bad for him. You know his father just lost a huge share from the stock market?"

Tad raised his brows. "Wow. Glad I'm not him."

Justin laughed at that, grabbing a bottled water from behind the bar. "So, Gord. Please excuse me for interrupting you. Continue." He grinned, leaning on the bar surface.

I looked down at my glass in hand. "Um… I forget what I was talking about."

He was so annoying.


	3. Chapter 3

Justin used to tease me over my sexuality. He wasn't cruel, and I knew he didn't hold it against me, but it was annoying nonetheless.

Parker, for example, was somewhat offensive at first, but I knew he didn't mean anything by it. The first thing he said to me in that shaky voice of his after finding out was 'I'm totally fine with gay people. My mom's cousin is gay.'

I always hated it when people said things like that to me. Nine times out of ten, I couldn't care less about who in anyone's family was gay.

Parker was my friend and respected me. He didn't dwell on my sexuality, and he didn't pry into my life. He said some things that stung a little, things along the lines of 'I'd probably go gay too if I could; girls are such a pain sometimes,' but after letting him know that those were ignorant statements to make, he stopped.

I appreciated his friendship. Parker was a good chap.

Justin wasn't like Parker because Justin's intention was to bother me.

Since Justin and I weren't close, I didn't try being nice. After warning me not to look at him while in the locker room, I warned him not to provoke me. After finding sexual innuendo underneath my words during a conversation, my fist found contact with his stomach. He curled around my fist and claimed that only a wimp like me would punch that low, and to this day I still regret not retorting by telling him that only a dolt like him would beleaguer me over something so trivial.

It wasn't until after I made a comment about him being insecure about his own sexuality that he stopped completely. I had cut him off right in the middle of an insult and all attention was then placed on him. He didn't respond in turn, which I had expected. I know how to end things.

At least it ended _that_. Even afterwards, he'd still tease me mercilessly over other stupid things. My 'scrawniness' seemed to be my striking quality to him. It had gotten excruciatingly old very quickly, but Justin doesn't know how to stop himself.

Justin was pathetic, if you ask me. He resorted to harassing me for who knows why because he was afraid of people bigger and stronger than him. He spent a lot of time sucking up to the Jocks. He'd tell you it was because he liked sports and wanted to become their friend based off of that common interest, but I was always under the impression that it was because he was intimidated by them.

Pathetic. That was _so _Justin. It was laughable, really.

I didn't know what Justin's problem was. If he hated me, wouldn't he try to avoid me? Whenever we were on the same premises, he always seemed to find me as though intentionally seeking me out.

Which brings us to our next scene. I left Glass Jaw sometime after noon to go the ice cream parlor. I went alone. I just wanted some space. Last night's encounter with him left me edgy. I feared Justin using my smoking to blackmail me or something of that nature. Derby would scold me for taking part in a poor man's pastime.

I had no clue what 'homemade' ice cream was supposed to taste like, but that's what the parlor was called, so I assumed this was it. We always ate store bought brands in my household and honestly the ones sold here didn't taste so different. It was a brightly decorated shop ran by a conflictingly dull staff of people. They were somewhat friendly to me and the other Preps since we lived in the area, but not so much the other children attending Bullworth.

I ordered a chocolate milkshake with whipped cream and a cherry on top. It was a sloppy looking milkshake, its whipped cream asymmetrical and cherry askew, but I didn't care. The man behind the counter didn't look me in the eyes or speak to me once. He simply took my money and handed me my product. That's the way I liked my service people.

I knew for a fact that Justin's father helped open the ice cream parlor. I don't know the whole story, but it was something of a birthday gift for him. He had been complaining about there not being one for when the miserable summer months rolled around. Justin's father and his father's business partner opened the establishment a month before the summer of sixth grade, a month after Justin's birthday.

I always thought that was nice of his father. Too bad Justin was a terrible person.

I took my cup over with me to the table out looking the window.

Justin boggled me. I didn't believe he _hated _me. I figured he simply picked on me for the same reason he did the Greasers: it made him feel good about himself.

Which, I'm sure we can all agree, was considerably pathetic. Justin was a legal adult, and I was a minor. Picking on a much smaller minor made him feel good about himself.

Puh-thetic.

I never ate the cherry. I simply requested it for aesthetics. Whenever I came here with Pinky she'd take it from me before I'd have a chance to start on the actual shake. She'd always make that same 'I popped your cherry!' joke after biting into the fruit. Incredibly childish it was, but I always laughed at it.

I took a long sip from my straw before placing the cup on the table surface to stare at it. I thought back to the Townies from the other night. What did that one say his name was again? Duncan?

_Duncan_.

That name was awful.

I took another sip from my milkshake before noticing my cherry had disappeared. I thought for a moment that I had dropped it, but looking around the floor and in my lap led to the conclusion that I had not. I sat up straight, confused, before seeing it dangling in front of my face.

"Lose this?"

I sighed.

Justin's voice was so painfully obnoxious. I didn't turn to look at him behind me. "Why are you here?" It was more of a statement than a question.

He took a seat perpendicular to mine. "I have a right to be here too, you know." He grinned.

"I mean did you follow me or something?"

"I did. You never finished your story in the bar." He brought his hand up to his chin, as though thinking back to the situation. "Something about me and our encounter last night?"

"You mean about how you were following me back there, too?"

He snorted. "I already said that I wasn't following you. Get over yourself."

_Get over yourself_. "You can't even seem to get over me."

He scoffed, placing the cherry in his mouth and pulling off the stem. "Whatever, peon. Tad hadn't seen you leave and wanted to know where you went. I told him I'd find you."

"Well, splendid, you've found me. Now leave me alone."

He smirked at me and stood up from his seat. "Till next time, then." The bells on the door rang upon his exit, as though they were just as pleased to see him leave as I was. Whenever Justin spoke to me our conversations were always short. He'd prod at me, and I'd prod back, until one of us stood up and left.

Pinky once said to me that we bicker like children, and I countered by blaming him for starting it. Which he always did.

My next sip on my milkshake was a long, angry one. If Tad wanted to know where I was he'd have called me.

Justin was pathetic.

* * *

The cigarettes that Townie bastard had bought for me tasted awful. I specifically told him to purchase a pack of something cool mint flavored, but the ones he gave me were much too strong and had gone partially stale. They tasted like dry dirt. Disgusting. They were rough and gross, as opposed to the smooth feeling I was used to. I didn't take the time to notice on the night I was given them, as I was desperate for a puff and suffering withdrawal. But after I left the ice cream parlor that afternoon, I was able to pay closer attention.

The prat must have bought the cheapest pack available so he'd have more change to keep. Despicable. That's what you get for trusting a poor kid.

They lasted longer because of that. Where I'd smoke one I'd instead only smoke half, where I'd smoke four I'd only smoke two. In a way he saved me from losing a new pack so quickly. And the effect wasn't any different; they relaxed me all the same. But still, that was no excuse for cheating me out of the quality I wanted.

I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he hadn't heard my request; maybe he was mentally damaged and needed more clarity. I knew I was probably being too nice, but I appreciated him willingly buying them for me. I mean, he was a piece of stupid trash, but at least he was there.

About a week after our first transaction, I sought the Townies out once more around the same time of night. It didn't shock me that they were in the exact same spot as they had been last time, and in the exact same positions. Poor people don't have many entertainment resources at their disposal, so there likely wasn't anything else for them to do with their time besides stand around.

There stood the same five of them who I'd encountered last time; Duncan, the nasally voiced one, a large one in a black tank top, a tall one with a hideous goatee in a stained brown jacket, and another short one, though not quite as short as Duncan. I was less nervous this time around, since I knew what to expect. They hadn't attempted to kill me on the spot last time, so as long as I were to act kindly to them again, maybe it would stay that way.

"Excuse me," I called to them before they were able to notice my presence.

They all turned around.

"You again?" the other short one started. He sounded significantly angry with me, despite that I hadn't done anything to offend him.

"'sup, Rich Boy?" Duncan was much friendlier. I mean, friendlier compared to the others. His tone wasn't an amiable one, but it also wasn't hostile.

"I need more cigarettes." I went straight to the point that time. I didn't want this interaction to last any longer than it deserved.

The one with the goatee snorted. "What are we, your dealers or somethin'?" He had a rough voice, very southern and trashy.

I rolled my eyes. "Look, I don't want to make this any more complicated than is required. I'm asking of a favor, and am willing to pay in return. Let's keep it as simple as that, fair enough?"

They all stared at me, expressions blank. Too many words?

"You got the green?" Duncan asked.

I flashed him my twenty. The Townies were so dimwitted.

"Alright, I'm with you." He nodded for me to follow him towards his bike.

I sat on his handlebars as I had the last time. They were uncomfortable and left chipped paint on the seat of my pants when I lifted off. His bike was old and rusty, the ghost of a possibly once-nice vehicle, with wheels that creaked with every rotation. His handles had no rubber gripping and the seat was torn, exposing its insides. Unsightly as it was, it got me to my destination.

We went the long way, probably in order to go unnoticed, up the hill near the newsstand and past the fire department. There were significantly more people out tonight, so it was important we stuck to the shadows.

The ride to the gas station was longer than I had hoped, but we had gotten there. I waited for him behind the bank to remain unnoticed by any pedestrians.

I made myself clear that time: I wanted something _cool mint_ flavored. Nothing cheap.

Actually, thinking back, all I had said to him was 'nothing cheap.' I never specified how I had wanted them to taste. But that was fine. So long as he didn't return to me with the same brand he had the last time, I'd be alright.

Duncan was an idiot, so it shouldn't have surprised me that he _did _in fact return with the same brand he had brought me last time.

I made him wait while I opened it and lit my first smoke. I was aware that it would be revolting, but I wanted him to witness my distaste, hopefully making him feel stupid.

I held direct eye contact with him as I tossed the entire pack to the ground. "Are you an idiot?"

He didn't seem very impressed with my impertinence.

"These are the _worst _cigarettes I have ever tasted in my entire life."

He laughed. "Whatever, dude. That's your money. I did my job." He started to turn towards his bike.

"You did no such thing," I said, grabbing his shoulder and turning him back to face me. That appeared to have fazed him. "I specifically told you not to buy those... _those_..." I was furious. It was a mixture of nicotine withdrawal and general anger with his stupidity.

He stared at me, snorting. "You look so cute when you get angry," he teased, swatting my hand off of his shoulder.

"Listen, _prat_, I am superior to you, okay? And I am _ordering _you to go back into that building and purchase me a _quality _pack of cigarettes with my change."

He didn't do anything for a moment. I waited, a bit apprehensive for what was to come.

He groaned. "Yeah, whatever."

Honestly, I hadn't expected him to go back inside without putting up a fight. He was being rather docile. It seemed uncharacteristic for a Townie, but I didn't think about it. I smiled to myself, pleased.

He returned to me a minute later, not with cigarettes, but drinking from a bottle of Beam Cola and offered me a sip.

"I don't want any of that garbage. Where are my cigarettes?" I asked him.

He pointed to the pack I had thrown to the ground. "I already bought 'em for you, Rich Boy."

I stared at him for a moment, in disbelief that he would act so rudely to his better. A chuckle escaped my throat, but it was out of frustration. "No, Trash Heap, you did not buy them for me. I told you _no cheap cigarettes_." I don't know why I was so angry with him. All that was needed for me to say was 'I want something cool mint flavored' and then we'd be finished. I had no clue why I was dragging this out longer than it needed to be.

"Cheap cigarettes?" I seemed to have offended him. "Are you effing kidding me, dude? Those smokes were seven-fifty! Those are quality, right there. Sorry they're not those prissy little flavor sticks you're used to, but I thought I'd be a good guy and get you something nice."

Who did he think he was kidding? "Quality? They're stale!"

"They're not stale, buttmunch. You're just not used to _real _cigarettes..." He laughed. "...because you smoke like a girl!"

My fists clenched. "Could you be anymore _aggravating_?"

"I'm not even _trying_, dude."

I stared at his ugly grinning face, furious, my blood boiling and skin burning red. Doing business with this piece of trash was a _nightmare_. I hated Duncan. _Hated _him. He was the worst person I had ever met in my life. Duncan was worse than every single Greaser and their families combined.

Duncan was…

He was such a...

"_Pauper!_"

Although I doubt he knew what that meant, my tone alone should have angered him enough.

He stepped closer, putting his face right in front of mine. "You better watch your mouth, Rich Boy. I'm not one of those pussies you go to school with."

_Aggravating_.

I wasn't thinking when my fist raised to meet his face. I was irrational in my state of withdrawal. He should have known better than to provoke a nicotine-addicted fifteen year old anyways. It was a rough blow, rougher than I'd intended. I only wanted to show him I wasn't fooling around, not to seriously hurt him.

He yelled out, bringing his hands to cover his face in pain. He was rather loud, loud enough to attract unwanted attention.

A 'what was that?' voiced from the other side of the bank, and Duncan was still whining in pain. It was past curfew and I had just hit a legal adult (albeit a stupid one) after being purchased cigarettes. I was a triple offender. I knew from experience that the police didn't take bribes, and the last thing I needed at that moment was a trip to the station. My father would be incensed if he needed to bail me out at this hour.

I was still irrational. I wasn't thinking. On top of everything, I was paranoid. I made a run for his bicycle and darted off towards the school without looking back, adding theft to my list of offenses.

Needless to say, I didn't get my cigarettes that night.


	4. Chapter 4

I didn't stop pedaling until I reached the school gates, only to take a last look behind me to ensure I wasn't being followed. When I hadn't smoked in a while, I was prone to paranoia. I figured that me, a high class individual, riding such a worn down piece of trash so quickly at this hour would certainly draw some suspicion.

I at least expected that Duncan or some other stupid Townie would have chased after me.

But, to my relief, I was alone.

A deep breath, and I continued into the school courtyard.

I parked the bike on its kickstand in the Harrington House lawn beside the shed, feeling somewhat secure, and started towards the dormitory.

A screw or something must have come undone, as the kickstand broke off of the body, falling to the ground with a loud clatter, the rest of the bike following after it. I winced. I could sense the eyes of Chad's once sleeping dog watching me with curiosity as I struggled to stand it back up, this time leaning it against the shed instead of expecting it to support itself. I stood by it for a moment, ensuring its stability.

Would it stay?

Of course not. It began to slide down the wall slowly, making even more noise as the bare handlebars scraped against the paneling, like nails on a chalkboard, at which point I decided to give up. At least it was quiet while on the ground.

Chad's dog, Chester, was excitable and loved us Preps. He ran up to me, tail wagging and tongue hanging out of his mouth. I patted him on the head, hoping that'd appease him and he'd go back to sleep. But no, he had to start barking. For a small dog he was notably loud.

I tried to hush him, but he continued to bark and yelp, darting around in circles at my feet. A light clicked on in a Harrington House window, on the bedroom floor. Then a series of tapping noises sounded from the building, like footsteps. I hesitated.

Chester raised his backside in the air, inviting me to play. I picked up one of his toys and tossed it as far away as I could (which was farther than had expected), landing at the base of the steps leading to the courtyard. He chased after it. Thank heavens. I let out a breath and continued.

It was almost one in the morning when I finally was able to enter Harrington House. My attempts at being quiet proved useless. The doors squealed when I pushed them shut, and the floorboards creaked underneath the soles of my shoes, despite how lightly I stepped. The fact that I was fidgety and nervous alone wasn't working to my advantage.

My journey from the front entrance to the lobby doors was a noisy one, indeed. Or perhaps it was my paranoia that was amplifying the sounds I made.

I took a deep breath before resting my hand on the lobby door handle. I needed to relax. Thankfully, the lobby doors opened relatively silently, with hardly an audible squeak. Of course that didn't make up for the squeak emitted from my throat once I came face to face with who was on the other side.

It was more of a girlish squeal to be honest. I brought my hand up to my chest, as if that would calm me down. "Don't do that to me."

"Where have you been all night?" Pinky questioned, both anger and relief lining her voice. "I've been waiting for you!"

Pinky was so dramatic. "What are you, my wife?"

She was in her pajamas, a silk nightgown under a blue Aquaberry robe with matching slippers. All she needed were curlers in her hair. She crossed her arms over her chest and shot me a cold face. "You forgot about our plans!"

"What plans?"

"We were going to go to the movies, remember?"

Oh. Whoops.

Pinky and I had been planning to go to the midnight premiere of some romance movie for a few weeks now, and she had even reminded me about it that afternoon in class. I thought it looked terrible in its commercials, but she was eager to see it with me, claiming that I'd love it if I gave it a chance. We intended on sneaking out around eleven-forty, and she was so excited about it, too. Doing things that were against the rules thrilled her.

I think the adventure was more what she was looking forward to. And for that I felt awful.

I didn't intentionally stand her up, but that was still no excuse. "I am _so _sorry, Pinky. Please forgive me, I completely forgot."

I spent my night mingling with the Townie kids instead of keeping a promise to one of my best friends.

She huffed and turned away from me on her heels, eyes shut and nose to the air. The poor girl never had much luck with movie dates.

"Tell you what," I started, stepping to face her. "Tomorrow, you and I will..."

I wasn't exactly sure how to make it up to her. Pinky could be a difficult person to reconcile with, especially when she had been looking forward to something for so long.

"Go tomorrow," she finished for me.

"Y-Yes! We'll go tomorrow, my treat!"

"And I wanna be first in line."

"I'll spend the night there if I have to!" I pulled the most pitiful expression I could. "Just please forgive me," I pleaded lowly.

She stared at me for a minute, almost as though she wasn't considering it. Then she grinned. "Okay, I think I can forgive you, even though I've _really _been looking forward to the midnight showing..."

I smiled, although I knew I didn't deserve her sympathy. Derby stood her up enough himself; she didn't need her friends doing the same.

She linked her arm through mine and pulled me forward, towards the staircase, signaling me to walk her back to her bedroom. Originally she was arranged to stay in the girls' dorm, but I guess the poor girls had gotten to be too much for her.

"Where _have _you been, though?"

I was hoping she wouldn't ask me that. "Um... I was going for a walk."

"This late?" She sounded rather skeptical.

Pinky wasn't stupid. She was ditzy, sure, but not stupid. I was a bad liar, that much was obvious. But Pinky was hard to lie to anyways, even if it did take a while for her to realize how exactly she'd been lied to. She always knew when something wasn't right.

I sighed. "Let's just leave it at that, shall we?" It'd break her heart to know I chose cigarettes over remembering her.

Pinky removed her arm from mine upon reaching her door. She held her hand on the knob, pausing to look at me before opening it. She jabbed a manicured index finger into my chest. "You better not forget about tomorrow. I wanna be there by noon. Got it?"

I saluted her. "Yes, ma'am."

She smirked before disappearing into her bedroom.

I groaned, still tense from earlier, and headed down the halls towards the leisure room. I needed to calm down.

I flopped face down onto the sofa. There was no way on Earth I'd be able to ask the Townies for any more favors. They'd murder me! I guess it was back to walking down to New Coventry at one in the morning and placing my trust in those filthy hobos.

I supposed that I deserved it for disappointing Pinky. She had been so thrilled over our plan.

I didn't have my priorities sorted properly.

* * *

I left on my bike to meet Pinky at the theater around eleven-twenty. I had to be sure I arrived first to the twelve o'clock showing. It was a Saturday, so I made a good decision, since the line had gotten relatively long. She showed up about a half-hour later in a usual peppy mood. I'm sure this wasn't as good as what she had been waiting for, but she seemed happy nonetheless.

I paid for our tickets, then a large soda, some bags of candy, and the biggest tub of popcorn I had ever seen in my life for Pinky at the concession stand. Pinky should've been the size of a house with the way she ate, but somehow she maintained her figure. All that food seemed to go nowhere.

I had to pay some people out of my pocket to ensure she got the seat she wanted in the very back of the theater, right in center. Her whining and fake crying apparently wasn't enough to persuade them. They moved after I paid them some more money upon threatening to beat me up.

But, it made Pinky happy, and I owed it to her.

"Ugh, I hate sitting through the previews," she whined through a mouthful of popcorn.

The next ten minutes she spent laughing at the comedy previews, gasping in awe at the action previews, and complaining about there being too many previews.

I was never a huge fan of movies, but I was sure this one would be god awful. It was one of those we-come-from-completely-different-lives-and-backgr ounds-but-I-love-you-romance genre movies. How insipid.

I spent those ten minutes watching people take their seats.

It wasn't until a particularly bright preview that I was able to make out a couple of familiar figures walking up the theater stairs. A couple of disgusting, trashy, intimidating familiar figures with limbs big enough to snap me like a twig.

I couldn't comprehend it at first. All I could do was stare at them in disbelief as they made their way to their seats. I sank, hopeful that I wouldn't be noticed.

Why on Earth would _any _self-respecting Townie kid come to see a movie like this?

There were only two of them as opposed to the five I had met on the previous occasions. That wasn't much of a good thing, since they appeared to be two of the larger ones. Neither of them were Duncan, thankfully, but the larger Townies could crush me much easier than he ever could.

They sat in our row, but at the side near the wall. Relatively far away, but still too close for my personal comfort. I sank further into my seat, nervous.

This was bad. I knew they'd be out for my blood after last night's occurrences with their fellow Townie. Poor people may be terrible, but they know how to stand together. Which was understandable seeing as they don't have much else.

The previews ended, and the movie began.

"Hey, Omar, check it out! It's that rich boy!"

I couldn't move. I was paralyzed.

Several people shushed the goatee'd one.

I couldn't even fathom how they were able to recognize me from so far away in such darkness.

Pinky looked around, confused. "Who said that?"

"I don't know. Just focus on the movie, Pinky."

She sunk back into her seat, grabbing another fistful of popcorn and shoving it into her mouth.

"Yeah, it is Rich Boy!" the nasally voiced one, the one dubbed Omar, confirmed. Another wave of hushes.

"Gord, I think they're talking to us," Pinky whispered to me.

"W-What? Don't be ridiculous."

"Hey Rich Boy, got any more green for us?"

I wanted to hush them myself, but I was probably in enough trouble with them as it was.

"Gord, why didn't you tell me you associate with poor people?"

"Because I _don't _associate with poor people." A bead of sweat began to form at my hairline. "I-I don't even know them."

"But they just called to you!" She smiled at them and waved. The Omar one nodded back at her while the one with the goatee gave her a 'hey baby.' How disrespectful. But Pinky giggled anyways.

Pinky had a bit of a wild streak. Poor people allured her, but her father forbade her from socializing outside of his tax bracket. We all want what we can't have, right?

"Don't wave at them! Are you insane?" I hissed.

"Introduce me!"

I made a bitter face. "I will _not _introduce you!" My voice cracked. "I hardly know them myself!"

She laughed. "Oh, so you _do _know them!"

I swallowed hard. I was a terrible liar. "Well..."

Her expression was a cheeky one.

"...perhaps, but not well enough to introduce you to them!"

She grunted. "Fine then, I'll just go over there and introduce myself," Pinky said as she began to lift off of her seat.

"Pinky, don't! Please!" I grabbed onto her arm and tugged her back down.

"Why does it matter?"

"Because they'll kill me!"

Pinky laughed at that. "Gord, please. That's absurd."

"I'm being serious!"

"But they sound so happy to see you!"

Yes, happy because they were eager to kill me.

Pinky was a strong willed girl, difficult to appease or control. When she wanted something, there was really no stopping her. She'd get it eventually, one way or another. I was sure our speaking to them that day was inevitable.

Our date was dreadful. I didn't pay attention to the movie. Neither me nor Pinky really did. She spent the time flirting with the Townies from afar and I spent the time paralyzed with apprehension. They spent their time throwing popcorn into the front rows, complaining loudly about how boring the film was, and getting yelled at by other moviegoers and an employee. I was hoping they'd be evicted from the theater.

This was awful, possibly the most distressing one-and-a-half hours of my life. I could physically feel my hair beginning to gray. But I was glad when it was finally over. Pinky wanted to stay after to check for a specific name in the credits, while the Townie duo filed out of the theater.

I internally sighed in relief, allowing myself to believe that we wouldn't have to see them anymore that day.

"That movie was okay," Pinky mused to me as we exited the theater, tossing away her trash on our way out. I found it amazing that she was able to finish that entire tub of popcorn and all of her candy by herself. She kept her soda with her, still slurping from the straw.

I snorted. "You mean you actually watched it? I assumed you were more focused on those poor kids."

She looped her arm through mine. "Hey, they were trying to talk to you! I didn't want to be rude!"

She took one last sip from her soda before we exited the building.

"Anyways, I read the book. It was really good, so I figured the movie would be-"

I stopped our walking. There they were, those two Townie bastards, on the other side of the street smoking and chatting with each other. This wasn't good.

"Gord, what's wrong?"

"Um..." I couldn't help but panic a bit. I was right here in the open, and they were right there. There was nothing in the way of them beating me up on the spot.

The one with the goatee turned towards us. "Hey, Rich Boy!" he said as the two of them started over to where we were.

Damn.

"Let's go this way, hurry!" I began to jerk Pinky towards the alleys, but it was too late. They were right in front of us. And my, how they were terrifying. The two of them had to be _at least_ six feet tall, towering over me. The nasally voiced one's forearm alone was probably three times the size of mine.

"What's up, man?"

Pinky's face brightened. Most teenage girls would want to meet their favorite celebrities or idols, but Pinky had always wanted to meet a poor boy. A 'real, authentic' poor boy.

I wasn't interested in any sort of conversation. "Uh... W-What are you two doing here?"

"We're on a man date," he joked, slapping the Omar one's shoulder with the back of his hand. "Naw, we didn't have nothin' else to do. This your girlfriend?" He looked Pinky over.

"Uh... no."

"We're just friends," Pinky broke in, pushing me to the side. "I'm actually totally available!" She twirled a lock of hair between her fingers. "My name's Pinky!" She held out her hand for either of them to shake, which the goatee'd one in turn took in his and kissed.

The thought of that goatee on someone's bare skin made me feel ill.

"It's Gurney," he said in that gravelly southern voice of his. Pinky giggled.

How pathetic. It was almost as though my eyes rolled to their own will. "Okay, we need to get going." I tugged at her forearm. "Pinky, let's go."

She groaned. "Alright, fine. It was nice meeting you two!" She gave that Gurney a lewd smile, and followed me to...

Well, in all honesty, I had no clue where I was taking her. Just... away from them. I assumed Duncan hadn't told them I assaulted him and stole his bike. They would've killed me had they known. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, but at least they hadn't beaten me up.

Or maybe they were plotting something. Maybe Duncan _had _told them and they were acting friendly towards me in order to gain my trust, and once all that was done, then they'd kill me.

Or maybe...

"Ow, Gord! You're hurting my arm!"

I was practically dragging Pinky along with me now, yanking on her arm in a very rough manner. It wasn't just her usual melodrama; I was being rather violent. I had to stop and look around to realize where we were, in an alley behind the bike shop. I was too lost in my paranoia to pay attention.

"Why did we have to leave? They seemed nice enough." She giggled to herself. "Especially that Gurney boy. He was so..." She sighed dreamily. "...authentic."

I let go of her arm. "Listen Pinky..." I didn't know what to tell her. They _had _been nice enough, though it could've been merely because Pinky was there with me. Pinky was a charming girl, and I'd imagine her presence could calm any guy down. Maybe now they'd even use her against me somehow. This wasn't good.

"...I just... don't feel comfortable around people as poor as them, that's all." Believable. And in all honesty, I didn't.

She cocked her head to the side. "How do they know you?"

"A friend of theirs bought me a pack of smokes sometime last week." I breathed in deeply. "And let's just say that they have every reason in the world to want me dead."

"Why?"

"Look, poor people are unreasonable. Even the smallest act of aggression against them could lead them to a frenzy, and I..." I lowered my voice. "...sort of punched one of them in the face and stole his bike."

She knitted her brows. "Well, Gord, that isn't exactly a small act of aggression."

I sighed. "Just… promise me if you see them you'll stay away?"

Her expression fell into a disappointed one. "But… they were so nice…"

I rolled my eyes, frustrated. "Look, if they want to hurt me, that's fine. I'm worried about your safety, Pinky."

She scoffed. "Oh come on, Gord. They wouldn't hurt me! I'm a girl!"

Pinky obviously didn't understand how poor people worked. "Just please promise me you'll stay away from them if you happen to cross paths?" Perhaps I was still in a state of paranoia due to lack of cigarettes, but if anything were to happen to Pinky I could never forgive myself. I gave her the best look of desperation I could.

She stared down on me, arms folded over her chest. "You sound like my father." She sighed. "Fine, I won't start any conversations with them."

I brightened.

"But if they come up to me and want to talk, I won't be rude. I'm going to talk back to them."

I sighed. "That's fine, just… be careful. I don't know them well and I'm worried you may get hurt."

She laughed. "You are so pathetic, Gord Vendome."


	5. Chapter 5

**[[a/n: this is a bit overdue but thanks so much for all the nice reviews. they mean a lot to me. i wasn't totally sure with how well this story would fly in the ff community but i'm glad people like it.]]**

It was Pinky's idea to go to the carnival later that night after a discussion on what we should do for the evening, but it was Tad's idea to invite Justin.

Tad was aware of the animosity between Justin and I, so honestly, I felt somewhat betrayed. After hearing that he had invited the sod along a few minutes before we left, I pulled Tad aside to express to him my discontent. I was hoping for it to just be him, Pinky, and I. The idea of Justin tagging along with us killed my enthusiasm.

"Don't be so petty," was all Tad said to me afterwards.

I considered Tad one of my best friends. In fourth grade, he assured me that the feeling was mutual; he viewed me as a best friend, too. I knew I couldn't control who Tad hung around with, but it still annoyed me that my best friend hung around with someone I couldn't stand. I hated it when people didn't dislike the same people I did.

Tad and Justin, supposedly, had a lot in common. When inquiring to Tad about what those things were, he gave me the obvious: they were both rich and they both disliked the Greasers. Sure, those were similarities. Everyone in our clique shared those things in common, including myself, but no one ever saw Justin and I hanging out with each other. I had absolutely no clue what the two of them could possibly bond over.

Something in the back of my mind was forcing me to think that Justin had asked to come instead of waiting to be invited, as Tad was a total pushover and rarely invited other people to join our outings himself. The prat always did whatever he could to ensure he was constantly a few steps behind me. He had serious issues.

I found it odd of Justin to want to hang out with us anyways. Tad, Pinky, and I were all fifteen, and he was three years older than us. Bryce and Parker were his age, why couldn't he go hang out with them instead of some minors? It was weird.

It was around seven when we left. The walk from Harrington House to the carnival was a relatively long one by itself, but Justin's presence made it feel much longer. I supposed that Tad was Pinky's date for the evening, as they walked together arm in arm the entire distance. The three of them spoke with each other, but I remained silent.

Justin was _so _annoying.

"So," Justin started once we were about halfway there, next to the boardwalk. "I heard that a kid fell out of the Big Squid last weekend."

Pinky gasped, not out of shock, but more excitement. "I love the Big Squid! I wanna go on that ride first!" She pulled at Tad's arm. "Tad, go on the Big Squid with me, please?"

"I would, but I'd probably throw up like I did last year."

"How about you, Gord?" Justin nudged my shoulder. "You up for a spin on the Big Squid?"

I groaned rather loudly. "No." It came out much angrier than I'd intended.

Pinky and Tad stopped walking, Justin stopping along with them, leaving me to inadvertently continue forward. I glanced over my shoulder, realizing that I was the only one moving, and turned to face them. "What? Why aren't we going?"

Pinky looked upset. "Gord, if you don't want to go to the carnival-"

"I _do_ want to go to the carnival! What are you talking about?" My voice had the tendency to crack whenever I was agitated. It was Justin's fault.

Tad shifted his shoulders. The two of them were obviously aware of why I wasn't in my best mood. It was like an elephant in the room. "You sound irate."

"_Irate?_ I'm not irate! I'm completely at ease! I assure you," I yelled at them, flailing my arms to the sides. I looked over at Justin who smirked at me.

Justin cleared his throat. "Well then..." He started forward, holding eye contact with me as he spoke. "...let's continue, shall we?"

* * *

The carnival was a rather run down place, but it was enjoyable nonetheless. I'd consider it to be the primary hangout spot for Bullworth kids, as pretty much everyone could be found there. There wasn't too much to do in this town, but even if there was I'd imagine the carnival would be able to hold its status as Bullworth's main source of entertainment for its children. The rides were rickety and the games were like robbery, and the food probably carried a few minor diseases, but despite everything, it was a good time.

Though, on that particular night, I couldn't bring myself to enjoy the evening. Not only because Justin was there, although that definitely had much to do with it, but because I expected those Townie kids to be there. Getting beaten up by a bunch of poor kids in front of my friends was not on my list of agendas for tonight.

The four of us emerged from the tunnel, a horizon shaped in lights wrought before us. Pinky bounced in place, hands clapping eagerly. "I want to get some cotton candy first! And then I want to play some games, and then..."

"Easy, Pinky. Don't wear yourself out," Tad advised. "Now, who's paying for tonight?"

"I'll pay," Justin offered. He patted me on the shoulder, startling me a bit. Prat.

There was a line at the ticket booth, so Tad, Pinky, and I waited off to the side while Justin paid for us. The two of them chatted about what they planned on doing at the carnival (actually, it was more Pinky talking a thousand miles a minute and Tad nodding his head when appropriate). I didn't feel like chatting.

The Townies' spot was occupied, but by just one of them.

Duncan.

Duncan, oddly, stood alone, none of his Townie friends anywhere to be found. He was in their usual loiter spot, leaning against the wall, but it was only him. Strange. Sad, even. The lone Townie.

He had on a plaid flannel shirt which appeared to have gone through some rough usage over that same dirty white one I'd always seen him wear. His jeans, torn and beaten, were tucked into scuffed combat boots. His left eye stained a blueish purple from our night before, and an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

In addition to looking very poor, he looked... very lorn.

He was fussing with a disposable lighter, probably trying to light his cigarette. He flicked the wheel several times, only for it to spark once and then give out. I had my Zippo lighter in my pocket, and considered walking over there to give him a hand. Actually, for some reason I couldn't comprehend, I _wanted _to help him out. Maybe I felt as though I owed it to him for bruising his face.

He stopped, pausing for a moment before eyeing me over his lighter. I hadn't noticed that I'd been staring. I couldn't exactly read his expression; maybe it didn't say anything.

"Hey peon." Justin's nasally voice snapped me back into reality. "Aren't you coming?"

Duncan looked back down to his lighter, ignoring me once again. I breathed in deeply and continued into the carnival with my friends. And Justin.

The cotton candy booth was Pinky's favorite. Spinning it yourself was optional, but she always chose to do so. It was fun for her. She once told me that spinning the stick around the bowl was almost hypnotic. The vendor let her have as much as she wanted, on the house. He told her it was because she seemed so excited, but Pinky was rather developed for her age.

Pinky had her eye on a puppy poster for twenty tickets in the prize tent and urged Tad to win it for her. It took him about half an hour at the Strikeout game, and after his first two attempts his motivation to win was more frustration with the taunting vendor than it was winning for Pinky. Imagining the targets were his father seemed to help his performance. The dog on the poster was really stupid looking, if I do say so myself.

Justin leaned over to me. "Want me to win you a puppy poster?"

I rolled my eyes.

It was probably a terrible idea, but we decided to eat before going on any of the rides. We all split a slice of pizza, as the slices served there were huge. The pizza was good, despite being terribly greasy. Justin wouldn't shut up about how the Greasers probably use the carnival pizza to style their hair. I admit, it was funny the first several times. But Justin doesn't know when to quit.

I needed a break.

I cleared my throat. "Yes, well... I need to excuse myself." They all looked at me, confused, but before anyone could say anything I was already off. They probably figured I left to find an adequate place to use the restroom (those portable toilets weren't up to my standards) since I ran off towards the exit. But no, I wasn't.

I was off to speak to Duncan. Disgusting, ugly, dirty, poor, trashy Duncan. I didn't know why I had the urge to talk to him, since I hadn't planned on asking him to purchase smokes for me. But perhaps I'd use that to break the ice.

He was still in his same spot, sitting atop the seat of a bike I hadn't seen him with before, leaning his elbows on the handles as he lazily flicked at his lighter, hoping for it to ignite. The bike was slightly too tall for him, his shoes dangling above the ground below, so I figured it wasn't his. He hadn't appeared to have had much luck with his lighter since our last encounter, the same unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth.

I took a deep breath before starting towards Duncan, as fidgety and nervous as the night I first approached him.

"Um, h-hello."

He looked to see who had spoken to him, returning to his lighter upon realizing it was me. "What do you want?"

The air was... so very heavy. "I was just wondering..."

He looked back to me. For a split second, his face looked hopeful, almost as though he were anticipating me to say something friendly in nature, perhaps even apologize.

But that wasn't going to happen. It wasn't my thing.

"...if you could buy me another pack of cigarettes?" I smiled brightly, as though that would help his decision. I didn't know what else to say to him.

His face sank. Then he laughed. "You smoke up the pack I bought you last night already?" Another flick at his lighter. "You smoke more than my mom."

I groaned. "I haven't been smoking those." He probably figured that.

He shook his head, feigning disappointment. "What a waste."

I was growing impatient, despite that I hardly cared whether or not he'd buy them for me. "So is that a yes?"

"Okay dude, am I like the only person dumb enough to take your money or something?" he inquired sarcastically, looking up from his lighter. "There's tons of people here tonight. Go ask someone else." Reading his face as a whole, I was bothering him. But his eyes translated a sort of humor, as though my presence was amusing him somehow.

And it was so aggravating.

I could feel my cheeks flush. My hands clenched into fists and a temper built up in my throat. "No, you _aren't _the only person dumb enough, prat!"

He raised his brows, flustered by my sudden outburst, probably expecting me to assault him again.

"You're just the dumbest person _close enough_ who won't tell my parents that I could ask without going to New Coventry! So you'd better learn your place and do what I say or risk losing the greatest amount of money you'd ever receive without having to whore yourself on the streets!"

He stared for a moment, brows still raised, unlit cigarette still dangling from his cracked lips. Then he snorted. "Wow. Nicotine withdrawal, much?"

As much as I hate to admit it, that probably was the source of my outburst. A groan escaped my mouth.

He smirked. "What's wrong with going down to New Coventry? I go there all the time."

I didn't answer.

"You _scared_?" He pouted his lower lip and pulled his gravelly voice into a babyish one, like pitying a young child. "The big bad Greaseballs gonna tear your sweater?"

I still didn't say anything.

He scoffed, returning his focus to his lighter. "Get lost, kid."

My mood shifted abruptly when I looked at his eye. I wasn't exactly sure what I was feeling. It was unlike anything I'd ever truly felt before in my life. It was strange, something like a large pain and sorrow combined into one, like something was eating at my insides.

I felt... bad. But the worst part about this feeling was the fact that I couldn't explain exactly why I was experiencing it.

I wanted to think it was the lack of nicotine.

"Alright duder, seriously, you need to find a friend. Anyone, they can be imaginary." He shooed at me. "Just go away and leave _me _alone."

I swallowed. "Where are _your _friends?"

I was legitimately bothering him at this point. "Why do you care?"

"I just..." I rubbed my arm. He had every right to be angry with me. He had performed an act of kindness and I returned his favor by giving him a black eye. "...you look..."

He waited.

"...lonely."

I thought the worst. Maybe that's why that Gurney and Omar duo had been so friendly with me. Duncan had told them some schoolboy stained his face, and his friends in turn kicked him from their clique. I felt terrible. Duncan may have been poor, dirty trash, but no one deserved that.

I fought a tear welling up in the corner of my eye.

He burst out laughing after a moment. "They're in the carnival. The cops told me I can't smoke in there."

I stared at him.

I had just spent all that time feeling bad about what I had done to a _poor person_ for nothing?

I was disgusted with myself.

I rolled my eyes, indignant. "Listen _Duncan-_" Speaking to him by his name felt odd to me. It must have been even odder for him to hear it from my mouth.

He bellowed a laugh. "You remembered my name?" he interrupted me. "Wow, dude, I'm actually surprised! I didn't think you rich pricks remembered anything that didn't have to do with yourselves!"

The only reason I actually remembered his name was because I hated it, honestly. It was so obnoxious. Duncan.

_Duncan_.

I _hated _that name.

It was such a...

_Such a..._

Such a _poor person_ name.

He smiled at me. "I don't know your name."

I really didn't want to tell him my name, but he wouldn't stop looking at me with that stupid crooked smile. I felt obligated. "My name is Gord," I told him reluctantly.

"Gord," he pronounced to himself, very literally, letter by letter, as though trying out the feel of my name on his lips. He looked me up and down and chuckled. "Not the name I would've given you."

"Excuse me?" Perhaps I was wrong to be offended, but everything he said angered me. "What's wrong with my name?"

He brought his hands up in defense. "Nothing! It's just... not what I would've named you, that's all. You look more like a..."

I stared at him hard.

"...like a Miller, or a Scott."

Miller or Scott. Those names were probably trashier than _Duncan_.

"I _hate _those names. I'll have you know I was named after my father, who is a very successful man."

He snorted. "That's funny," he said quietly, more to himself than to me, as he continued flicking at his lighter. "Whatever, kid. I don't feel like buying anything for anyone right now." He gave up on his lighter, tossing it to the ground. "While you're here though, you got a light?"

What a prat. "No, I don't. Sorry."

And with that, I left him, back to the carnival.

I entered the gates. Justin was standing there, off to the side, easy to miss. Which I did. His disembodied voice was what gave him away.

"Mingling with the homeless kids again?"

Honestly, his presence didn't startle me. It was sad, really, that I had grown so used to him being there. I stopped to turn to him. "Mind your own business."

Justin smirked. "I figured." He walked over to my side, gently pushing me forward, signaling me to follow along with him. "I saw you staring at one of them earlier. You looked so eager."

Eager? "What does that mean?"

"Those plebeians make you feel _alive, _don't they?"

"What on Earth are you talking about?"

He stepped in front of me. We were near the prize tent at this point, and I could see Pinky and Tad in line at the Big Squid ride from where we stood. Justin gave me a look, like he thought he knew something.

I furrowed my brows, legitimately not understanding what he meant. Then I thought about it...

My jaw dropped. _Disgusting_, absolutely _vile_. "You think I'm having _relations _with that kid?"

He grinned, smug.

"That is..." Putrid, sickening, not to mention low-class and offensive. "..._not_ true."

I was telling the truth, but Justin wasn't taking it. "Mhm."

I had no clue what to say at that point. Where on Earth would he get an idea like that from? "All he does is buy me cigarettes. Business transactions are all I've ever done with that piece of trash. How _dare _you even _think _anything more than that!"

He laughed. "You're awfully defensive."

Justin glanced around, and then pulled me aside by the arm, behind the prize tent.

"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded, attempting to shake off his grip. I was actually worried he'd try to beat me up. Even if I _was _sleeping with the Townies, it was a pretty flimsy reason to act violently against me.

He dug into his jacket pocket, holding me in place by the shoulder with his other hand. "Here. I bought this with you in mind." He took my hand and placed a pack of mint flavored cigarettes into my palm, folding my fingers around it. I couldn't believe my eyes. "It's on the house."

I stared at the pack in my hand for a moment before opening it. Call me dramatic, but I had never witnessed a sight so beautiful in all of my life. The pack itself was white with golden relief lettering, very long and thin. The filters were an airy shade of pastel blue with golden banding near the body of the cigarettes. I pulled one out, being very careful, as though they were the most fragile things I'd ever handled in my life.

They were much longer and thinner than the stubby gas station cigarettes I had grown so used to. They felt... elegant.

I was confused. "Why did you buy these for me?" My brows furrowed. "I thought smoking was bad for me."

He chuckled. "Just say thank you, Justin."

I looked up at him. He still had that dreadfully cocky expression upon his face that he always seemed to have, but for once it didn't translate any actual cockiness. It was almost as though he legitimately wanted to do something nice for me.

I said, "Thank you."


	6. Chapter 6

My first decent smoke in a good while took place behind that very prize tent, out of everyone's line of sight, after Justin left my side.

The cigarettes he had given me were divine. Inhaling the smoke was almost like drinking a cold, refreshing glass of water, cool all the way down my throat to the pit of my lungs. It was vitalizing. Exhaling was like renewing my insides, ridding my system of every impurity. They were incredible, unlike anything I'd ever experienced before from smoking. They made me feel fresh.

The warning labels on the box were in Italian, so they must have been imported, and expensive. (And Derby says cigarettes are for poor people!) They weren't something a person just buys for someone on a whim. He must have planned on purchasing them for me.

But... why?

It was a strange gesture, but Justin was a strange person. I never understood why he did the things that he did. I figured this was just one of those things that I couldn't understand, so I stopped my wondering.

Pinky, Tad, Justin, and I stayed at the carnival until around midnight. It was past curfew for the minors of our group, but after explaining to the authorities we were out with a legal adult, they left us alone. Perhaps the only perk of being with Justin.

I was tired and wanted to get back to Harrington House, but for Pinky the night was just beginning.

"Tad, I wanna go to the lookout point to see the stars!" she pleaded.

Tad looked rather wearied himself, but agreed to the trip regardless.

"Alright, well," he began to me, the trace of a yawn in his voice. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

I smiled at the two of them. "Goodnight then."

"Yes, goodnight, you two," Justin voiced from behind me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. Honestly, I had forgotten he was there. "Don't you kids stay out too late." He chuckled. I glared, shaking off his arm.

Pinky and Tad set off, splitting our group in half near the tunnel, and the realization that Justin and I would be walking home together dawned on me. How unpleasant.

"Now, shall we head back the school?" Justin smirked at me, but his cockiness was nullified by the fact that he had been kind to me earlier. I knew that Justin had attempted to shadow his giving me cigarettes with typical arrogance, but it didn't work. His kindness translated.

I pulled out the pack he had given me from my pocket, eager to smoke another.

A few Townie kids pulled up near the tunnel to pick up Duncan and the two I'd met at the movies earlier that day in an old run down car, shouting things to each other from open windows that I couldn't understand over music blasting from their radio. There was that big one in the black tank top behind the wheel, the short one in the back left seat, and three others that I'd never seen before wherever they could fit.

The car was rusty, its windshield cracked, license plate situated in the back window, and the driver's door didn't match the rest of the body. Honestly, I'd be worried for my life riding in such a trashy vehicle.

That Omar one stored the bike Duncan had been sitting atop in the trunk. They all piled into the car, which I found rather incredible seeing as it wasn't a big car and they were all notably large, Duncan sitting on the short one's lap. The other short one complained angrily, but Duncan merely laughed at him. His window was down, and for a moment I feared he'd try to speak to me. He hung his arm out the window, gaze drifting over to where I stood.

Our eyes met for a few seconds. He smiled at me and nodded a hello before the car sped off towards Blue Skies, Townie shouts and blaring music fading as they disappeared.

I watched after them.

Justin cleared his throat, calling my attention to him. He looked stern, almost angry.

"What is your problem, Vandervelde?"

He smirked. Although the kind gesture from earlier was remembered, his egotistical facade at that moment couldn't be ignored. "I know how you work, Gord." Justin may have done something nice a while ago, but at that point he was annoying me.

What the hell was he talking about now?

"That's why I bought those for you." He tapped the pack of cigarettes in my hand. "Now you have no reason to associate with those plebeians."

I narrowed my eyes. "Why do you care who I associate with?"

"I don't. I just don't like the thought of you spreading any of their diseases to the rest of us. We haven't developed any immunities, you know. Anyways..." Justin leaned down to me and said in a low voice, "...I'd be worried about catching something."

A loud grunt escaped my throat. "I thought I made myself perfectly clear before. _I'm not sleeping with any of them_."

He laughed. "I never once said you were!"

"You're _implying _it." I breathed in, aggravated. "If I want to associate with them, I will. You don't control me, okay?" I stomped off, feeling as though I made my point.

Justin scoffed. "Suit yourself," he said behind me.

"Oh, I will!" I retorted, turning to face him. "And there isn't anything you can do to stop me!"

I walked back to Harrington House by myself that night. I was in a much less Justin-tolerable mood after that spat. Who did he think he was? The nerve of him, trying to tell me who I could and couldn't associate with.

It didn't matter, because I had won that dispute. I smiled to myself, rather pleased.

My thoughts forced me to pause once I reached the school gates. Had I won?

I had just told him that he didn't control who I spoke with, which he didn't, but at the same time I defended myself for speaking with the Townies.

The Townies, the poorest children in Bullworth, our polar opposites. The scum of this town, the most disgusting human beings I'd ever had the displeasure of meeting.

_The Townies._

I thought for a moment...

How did Justin do that? By defending myself I had actually _lost _that argument. I didn't _want _to defend my right to associate with the Townies because I didn't want to associate with them _at all._ I mean, if we'd been arguing over whether or not I could speak to them to give orders, I probably would've won.

But we weren't. Justin suggested that I'd been sleeping with them, and _I defended my right to do so_.

Justin had won that argument. I had just finished defending mingling and having sex with the _lower class._

How could I be so stupid?

I was utterly _disgusted _with myself.

* * *

I didn't sleep well that night, as exhausted as I was. I couldn't get those damned lyrics I heard over the Townies' radio out of my head: 'D-U-M-B everyone's accusing me.'

Lying awake in bed for hours, stuck replaying those same words over and over again; I was tempted to relate those lyrics to my current situation. Except instead of everyone, it was only Justin. But Justin was just as annoying as a group of 'everyone', if not more.

I actually wasn't sure whether or not he _really _thought I was hanging out with the Townie kids or if he was simply trying to get to me. Either way, he needed to stop.

But Justin doesn't know how to stop himself. He was stupid, just like this entire situation.

My trying to put an end to his accusations led me to a loss. I actually supported them in a way with what I had said. And that was the most annoying part. By defending myself, he won.

Actually, me getting angry _at all_ allowed him victory. But how could I not? He was so painfully obnoxious.

It was around seven in the morning the next day when I woke up in my bed. I had only gotten an hour of sleep at most, and lying awake in bed was bothering me. I wasn't much of a morning person anyways, but after a near sleepless night I was to a much lesser extent.

I moaned, opening one eye, the sunlight from outside my window tapping against my face. Dreadful.

I could smell breakfast downstairs. Probably french toast or something else I didn't want. Don't get me wrong, I loved french toast. I just wasn't in the mood for eating.

I sat up, cracked my neck, and forced myself out of bed.

I didn't bother getting dressed or showering. It seemed pointless this early. All I could bring myself to doing was putting on my robe and slippers. Hopefully most of the other Preps would be out jogging or something. They didn't need to see me ugly.

The Harrington House dining room was nice, a long table underneath a centered chandelier with a seat for every one of us. Four seats on the left, four on the right, Derby's seat head of the table in front of the back window. The table was always set with china plates and silver utensils upon linen napkins, a wine glass per set. The walls and floors were paneled with dark wood, the floor polished to a shine.

It was a nice room, yes, whatever. I saw it every day, and I was too tired to care.

Tad was sitting in there when I entered, french toast and tea situated in front of him, reading the paper as he ate. The day's breakfast was set on the table, and judging by how much was still left, the other Preps hadn't woken up yet.

Tad looked at me over his paper. "You look chipper this morning," he joked. He was always up this early. I had no clue how he was able to do it.

I was ready to punch him. I groaned and took a seat across from his. "What time did you and Pinky get back?" I asked, pouring myself a glass of tea. Tea could make any morning bearable.

He set his paper down next to his plate, folding his hands in front of him. He made a thoughtful expression. "You know... I really don't know. I didn't check." He laughed. "I was too tired to look when we got back. Hell, I was half asleep at the lookout point. Pinky had to shake me awake. She told me I looked like that filthy hobo, sleeping on a bench..."

He kept talking about that. I really wasn't listening. I didn't want to be rude to Tad, but it was far too early to hold a conversation.

I took a sip from my tea. Earl Grey, the finest of quality. Only the best for us. It did help me wake up. I felt much better. That was, until...

"Oh yeah, Justin went out a few minutes ago. He was looking for you."

I rolled my eyes. "What else is new?"

Tad laughed, but I didn't find it funny.

I glared at him. "Don't laugh, Tad. Justin is such a _prat_. I can't _stand _him."

Tad snorted. "You're such a whiner. Maybe he just wants to be friends with you." He smiled, biting a piece of french toast off of his fork. He was making fun of me. Obviously Justin didn't want to be friends with me. That was ridiculous.

"Should I tell him you said hey?"

I didn't like that prat hanging around with Tad. His irritating ways were beginning to rub off onto my friend. "Please, don't encourage him."

He chuckled, lifting his paper back up to his face.

I brought my teacup back to my lips. Justin's act of kindness from the night before wasn't forgotten. "You know," I started. "Justin pulled me aside last night to give me a gift."

Tad raised his brows, eyes still scanning the paper. "Oh?"

"Yes... It was strange, if you ask me."

"What'd he give you?"

I put my cup back down. "A pack of cigarettes. They looked expensive."

With a light laugh, Tad said, "He had been talking about buying you a pack of high quality smokes for a while now."

I knitted my brows. "What?" Tad knew something.

"He probably felt bad for you having to settle for those gas station ones." Before I could inquire, he was lifting off of his seat. "I'm going for a run. Wanna come along?"

I declined his offer, as much as I wanted to know more. He left the room, leaving me to myself.

I ate a bagel and some french toast, and then went outside for another smoke promptly after. The minty flavor was even more soothing this early in the morning. What Tad said left me infuriatingly curious.

Justin had been talking about buying me those cigarettes. So I was right; he _had_ planned on purchasing them for me. How odd.

He was so confusing, a mystery wrapped in an enigma.

Prat.


	7. Chapter 7

It was hard warning Miss Pinky Gauthier. She didn't like listening to others if it meant not getting her way, and seeing as she was rather rebellious when it came to class orders, it was difficult convincing her what wouldn't be good for her.

When it came to material possessions, she was given what she wanted when she wanted it, and if not when she wanted it, she'd cry and whine until she obtained it. The majority of the things she wanted were material, so that was easy for her. But with things that dealt with other people, she was in a bit of trouble since crying didn't always work.

She soon figured that out and resorted to having other people do those things for her instead.

Back in elementary school, she would always order me to pull Chad off of the monkey bars when she wanted to climb, or push the poor kids out of line for the ice cream truck so she could get the best pick. In all honesty, I really didn't mind. I didn't enjoy doing things for her, but I wasn't complaining either. I suppose I was used to it by that point.

That was all fine and good back then. Monkey bars, ice cream trucks; it was all child's play.

She seldom asked me to do things like those for her during our high school years. As much as I hated to admit it, I was small and hard to take seriously. Instead she'd order around Derby, since he was her cousin and had the most money, or Bif with all of his brawn, and once or twice, Hopkins, because I guess he was easy to manipulate.

Derby paid for her grades in class, Bif took care of anyone who bothered her. I'm not exactly sure what Hopkins had ever done, but it must have been very nice since she used to speak rather highly of him during freshman year.

But there were some things not even Derby, Bif, or Hopkins would do for her, mostly because she couldn't ask. It wouldn't be right for a girl of her high social caliber. But also because they likely wouldn't follow through and help her.

Ever since the end of eighth grade, she'd been telling me, and only me, that she dreamed of meeting and losing her virginity to a poor boy.

Virginity was an absolutely ridiculous concept in its own right, but to sleep with a _poor boy? _That was unspeakable.

She was always so eager to meet poor boys because of this. Our movie date that previous Saturday left me terrified, and it wasn't just nicotine withdrawal-induced paranoia. That Gurney was such a sleazy looking man, and Pinky seemed quite fond of him. Sure, he acted charming and polite, but that was how poor people lured respectable women into their traps. They seduced them, wrapped them around their fingers, and left them out in the cold once they had gotten what they wanted. That Gurney would surely be no exception.

Plus, let's not forget here, the man had to be _at least_ twenty-something, and Pinky was still a mere fifteen. That was not okay. She was a child, and he was an adult. Of course, that wouldn't matter to pieces of trash like those Townies, or a teenage girl with a crush, and that's where my fear came from.

Pinky was such a close friend of mine, and I worried I couldn't protect her. The poor people of Bullworth were such dirty, vile things, loaded with all sorts of diseases and violent intentions no matter what front they put on. I knew Pinky was a self-assured girl, and I respected that and her right to make her own decisions. But I would never let myself live it down should anything ever happen to her.

Despite everything, I forced myself to believe that she would be alright, more because the worrying was wearing me out. Pinky was a smarter than that, wasn't she?

Of course she was.

Sundays were recuperation days for us Preps. Calming down and relaxing from the weekend, preparing ourselves for the hellish school week to come. Normally I'd treat myself to a shopping trip in Old Bullworth Vale or watch boxing matches down at Glass Jaw for the afternoons. That particular Sunday, however, I instead decided to go for a bike ride around Bullworth Town.

It was such a pleasant day that day, a casual polo and shorts sort of day. The air was invigorating, golden beams of sunlight glowing against my skin. Many other Bullworth children decided to take advantage of the fabulous weather as well. The Nerds hung around outside of their beloved Dragon's Wing, the Greasers near the bike shop, other assorted Bullworth students cavorting throughout the town. My fellow Preps normally stuck to Old Bullworth Vale, so I didn't pass any of them during my ride.

I didn't expect to pass any of them, at least.

But when I caught a glimpse of a tall brunette girl in an argyle sweater vest near the old movie theater, I couldn't help but become curious.

I was riding by the hardware store when I spotted her out of the corner of my eye. She was a considerable distance away from me, so I didn't let myself jump to any conclusions. I stared for a moment from atop the seat of my bike, my feet on the ground holding me in place. I watched as she appeared to speak to someone behind the building that I couldn't see from where I was. She giggled, and scurried down the alley behind the theater.

I paused to think for a moment. Pinky had no reason to be so close to New Coventry, and there certainly wasn't anyone in this part of town she'd need to speak with. But the girl I saw looked awfully similar to her.

I shook the thought from my head. That was preposterous. Pinky, all the way out here, talking to someone? I could have laughed at myself for even considering it. She was smarter than that.

Of course she was.

I hadn't realized I'd been sitting there in the middle of the road. Several car horns and angry shouts snapped me out of my thoughts. I hesitated for a moment before deciding to pedal off in the brunette's direction. I mean, surely it _wouldn't_ be Pinky, but...

...I just needed to verify.

I paused before pedaling behind the theater, staring down the alley, taking it in. It was very dark and discomforting. Being there, alone and vulnerable, sent chills up my spine. No classy young lady should ever have to come down this way. It was long and shadowy, like a black blanket cloaking the lane, obscuring my ability to make out figures even on a sunny day like this one.

As much as I wanted to turn back, I didn't allow my fear to get the best of me. Ignoring the blood pounding in my ears and sweat beading on the back of my neck, I forced myself to pedal at a slow pace down the alley.

The girl was no longer in my line of sight. Parallel to the alley, there was a staircase leading into the back of the old theater that she could have gone in. Actually, there were many buildings she could have gone into up that way. I hesitated. Hopefully I hadn't lost her. That would have been absolutely terrible. A disembodied giggle sounded from the end of the corridor, startling me a bit. That must have been her. A sigh of relief, and I pedaled in the voice's direction.

As sure as I was that it _wouldn't_ be Pinky, I prepared myself to find her as I made my way down the dark alley. What was I going to say to her? Pinky, you shouldn't be wandering around dark alleys speaking to people. Yeah, that was good. Though she'd likely accuse me of sounding like her father. Then I'd confront whoever it was she had spoken to. Hopefully they wouldn't be much larger than me.

The end of the alley was approaching, but still no sign of that girl. This wasn't good. What if she had been kidnapped? Who knew what could have happened to her. I couldn't breathe. My throat was too tight. I cursed myself, my breath shallow and tears welling in my eyes. This was awful. This was utterly terrible beyond description.

I needed to find her.

Rounding the corner into the parking lot behind the police station, thankfully, I could see her again, heading down the alley near the health center with a certain hop in her step, as though she were excited. That was _so _Pinky. (Although, of course, it _wasn't_ Pinky.) I had to be quick; I wasn't sure how much time I had left until something bad happened to her. I followed, pedaling as fast as I could while keeping my eyes on her as she made her way across the street.

I wasn't paying attention to where my bike was taking me. I was far too focused on that girl for my own good. It was so abrupt. One moment I was watching her, and the next I was on the pavement. It was almost as sudden as if I had blinked. My vision just went black. I was sure I had died.

"Hey, Gord," came a voice from above. My head was spinning and throbbing; I couldn't think straight. Absolutely absurd as it may sound, I thought it was the voice of some angel. "Look out!" The voice laughed.

I gave myself a moment to examine my surroundings, objective momentarily forgotten. I was lying back down on the ground, my bike a few feet away from me. I must have hit a wall or something and fell off. Ridiculous, Gord.

I found the strength to push myself onto my feet, legs swaying as I held my head still. Anyone who has ever seen a cartoon where the character gets hit and the stars spin around their head would get the idea.

I looked up towards where the voice sounded from. I was pretty sure at this point that it wasn't an angel.

Duncan grinned and gave me a casual nod. I was rather confused. He was just... just sitting there on the roof of the barber shop, legs dangling over the alley, nonchalantly taking turns between puffing on a cigarette and drinking from a bottle of Beam Cola. On the roof. By himself.

I _must _have been dead.

I had to squint a bit to make sure it was really him, and as I guessed, it was. How wonderful. "What... What are you doing here?" I asked. It was odd that I'd run into Duncan here alone. I was under the impression that Townies only left their turf in groups at night. He was one of the last people I wanted to see.

He shrugged. "Sitting. Smoking." Then he grinned. "Watching you fall off your bike."

"And you couldn't have warned me before I hit the wall?"

"I said look out." He chuckled. "You just hit it too soon."

I groaned to myself. Duncan was so bothersome. I had more important things to deal with than Townie trash.

"What the hell were you looking at?"

Across the street was the girl I had seen earlier, only now was I entirely certain that it was not Pinky. She was an adult woman with wrinkles and a sun damaged complexion, speaking and giggling with an elderly gentleman. Her sweater vest was definitely not Aquaberry. It looked old and the hem was fraying. I had to give her credit, however. From a distance she really did appear to be Pinky.

"Um..." I sighed, bringing my hand to my forehead. "Nothing." Perhaps I should have trusted my friend more.

I looked down at my bike, its back wheel still spinning. The front tire was bent and at a rather unnatural angle, perpendicular to where it should have been. Fantastic. What was even worse was the fact that this could have been avoided had I not been so worried about Pinky.

"Your bike isn't lookin' too good, Rich Boy." He hopped down the stairway, making his way over to my side.

"Yes, I can see that." I sighed, rubbing my temples. This wouldn't be cheap to repair. "My father is sure to be furious with me. I just had it repaired last month!"

Duncan laughed. "You gotta stop running into things, bro." Another swig from his bottle and puff on his cigarette. He _epitomized _trash.

I glared. The nerve of him. I was so ready to give him a second black eye at that point. "Listen, Trash Heap, I have more important things to deal with at this moment than you. So please, just leave."

He smirked. "You can't tell me to leave, Rich Boy. I was here first."

I grunted. "Why _are _you here, anyways? Shouldn't you be at home sleeping in your trailer, or something?"

He stepped closer to my face, as he had that night I punched him. "None of your business."

I narrowed my eyes. He had some nerve. "Are you asking me to assault you again, pauper?"

He laughed. "Dude, my friends punch me in the face all the time. I don't even care anymore."

Hmph, poor people.

Of course, I wasn't ready to hit him just yet, seeing as though he could be of some assistance to me. "Tell you what, Duncan. I promise not to hurt you if you assist me with my bike." It _was _partially his fault that I fell, after all. He owed me help.

He smiled as though highly amused, showing his crooked teeth. "Sounds fair."

"Good." I sighed. This was likely to be expensive, and my father was likely to be upset with me, but my bike needed to get repaired. "Help me take this to the shop."

He scoffed, waving his arm as if I was being ridiculous. "Pfft, you don't need some bike shop. I got a friend who can fix it for free."

A friend? For free?

He smiled, but I wasn't entirely sure if I liked the sound of that.


	8. Chapter 8

"Oh, no." I laughed. This was crazy. "Oh, no, no, no." I stepped back a few paces, shaking my head from side to side. Obviously Duncan didn't understand the rivalry between my clique and the Greasers.

This piece of trash expected me to cross through New Coventry in order to get my bike repaired. It was one thing going down there at night, but in broad daylight? He must have had something wrong with him. "There is _no way_ on Earth you will get me to go there!"

We were near the motel at this point, right in front of the underpass leading into New Coventry. Duncan offered to wheel my bike for me, claiming he was a gentleman, so I allowed him. He told me he had a friend named Henry who was very knowledgeable when it came to bikes, and I was eligible for the I-know-a-Townie discount. We needed to get to Blue Skies in order for his friend to do his work.

Although I knew I'd be completely out of place, I felt protected by the fact that I would be there with a Townie. Going through New Coventry was a different story; the Greasers hated both my clique _and _Duncan's. There was nothing protecting either of us.

Duncan looked annoyed. "You want this fixed or not?" he said, shaking my bike's handlebars.

"Of course I want my bike fixed," I replied. "But not as much as I want to live to see tomorrow!"

He rolled his eyes. "Look dude, I already texted Henry and told him we're coming. And he's all excited about getting to keep your broken parts." Duncan pouted. "Don't break his heart."

Eugh. "There has to be a way to avoid the Greasers," I said, more to myself than to him.

"Who cares about them? Greasers suck." He clicked his tongue. "Look, just ignore them. Don't make eye contact."

I grimaced. He really was an idiot. "You honestly think that will prevent them from beating us up?"

Duncan shrugged. "Yeah, why not. Just pretend they're not there." He started to turn to New Coventry, nonchalantly walking towards the town as though he owned the place.

I hesitated for a moment. Nothing good could possibly come of this, aside from a fixed bike. But I wasn't entirely sure if that'd be worth the trouble. "D-Duncan, wait a minute!"

He stopped with an aggravated huff, not even turning to face me. I could practically sense him rolling his eyes.

"I don't think this is a good idea."

"Yeah, I know you don't. Just stop thinking, dude."

A noise of irritation escaped my throat. Stop thinking? How was I supposed to stop thinking when faced with a situation like this? "I can't just stop thinking, Trash Heap. I'm not you."

Duncan sighed, annoyed, and thought for a moment. "Alright, fine. Since I guess I'm your babysitter-" I glared. How dare him. "-I'll keep you safe by taking the back way. We can cut behind some shops and the Greasebags probably won't notice us."

Really now, that idea didn't sound much better. But it was likely to be safer than going right out into the open.

I breathed, and said reluctantly, "Fine."

I hated myself for agreeing. The voice in the back of my head scolded me for not putting up a bigger fight. I had never been further than the market, and I was utterly terrified to just saunter into unfamiliar territory uninvited (and unwanted). Duncan didn't seem to care. How I envied his apathy.

Thankfully, there were no Greasers near the entrance, only a few hobos. I breathed a sigh of relief, allowing myself to believe that this wouldn't be too terrible.

New Coventry was abysmal, the roads littered with garbage and it smelled of oil and rat urine. It was appalling. Most of the commercial buildings were abandoned or boarded up, but all of them were covered in graffiti, colorful in both hue and general content. The sounds of sirens off in the distance, dogs barking, and the occasional scream. I did _not _belong there.

Duncan and I took the dirt pathway between the Slab o' Meat deli and some old shop boarded and vandalized beyond recognition. The path was rather secluded; I doubted we'd encounter anyone back there. We followed the road until it ended, next to the Spazz Industries warehouse, and just like that, we were in the open once more. My anxiety returned.

Duncan, still wheeling my bike on its back tire, must have noticed my discomfort. He grinned. "Chill out. They're not gonna mess with us."

"You don't know that," I said under my breath.

Across the street from where the previous dirt path ended was another one, next to the Wonder Meats warehouse. It was a short one, and honestly taking it wouldn't make much of a difference than not, but we took it regardless. It made me feel safe and Duncan knew.

"Oh, no," I gasped. Directly across the street from where the road ended, by a tenement building, was a Greaser. He was far too close for comfort, not even fifty feet away from us. He was a bigger one, very intimidating, and I just wanted to get away from him.

The Greaser wasn't doing anything, merely standing around and smoking, minding his own business. Even when he looked up at us after a double take, he simply stared without initiating any sort of fight. I internally thanked him because I knew deep down he probably did want to beat me and Duncan to a pulp.

"Duncan, let's go," I muttered, pulling at his shirt.

Duncan was staring back at the lone Greaser, as though ready to pick a fight. "What're you lookin' at, Fonzie?"

My jaw dropped. Was he insane? "No, Duncan, please no." We were so close to the Blue Skies bridge that it was painful. "Please, don't start a fight," I begged him, close to crying.

The Greaser's jaw tightened. He threw his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out while keeping eye contact with Duncan. This was a nightmare. This was terrible. I was sure I'd die there that day. I _wanted _to die before he had the chance to pulverize us (more _me _than _us_, actually).

I watched him with apprehension. He started moving, and my heart skipped a beat.

He lifted one foot, followed by the other. But rather than walking over to where we were, he instead made his way into the alley between two tenement buildings. He was out of our line of sight. He was gone.

I looked at Duncan. "He... He just left?" Could it really be that simple to get rid of Greasers?

"Yup. Just gotta remind 'em who's boss." He grinned, cocky. "Now, onwards."

* * *

Duncan left my bike with the one he called Henry, in front of his trailer. He was the one Townie in the black tank top I had seen on those other occasions. I didn't get very close to Henry, as I waited on the other side of the street, but Duncan got close enough to him for me to make a comparison. The man was at least a foot and a half taller than Duncan, with huge arms and hands shielded by a thick layer of muscle. He wasn't someone I wanted to anger.

When Duncan was done speaking with him, the two of us made our way down the street to what I assumed was his house. "Henry said he'd text me when your bike is done," Duncan told me. He took a seat upon the shabby couch on his porch, releasing a loud sigh. He patted the cushion next to him, inviting me over.

I sniffed. I didn't want to get my pants dirty. Or sit near him. "I'd rather stand." It was his fault I had to be here. I'd never hear the end of it should word get around to my friends that I went to Blue Skies with a Townie.

He smirked, and it was quiet.

The silence between the two of us was oddly serene. I didn't feel uncomfortable or anxious or ill in the stomach. I felt fair. In fact, I almost felt relaxed.

Duncan didn't appear to mind the quiet, either. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, the same brand he had purchased for me on those other occasions, and began to light one up. He noticed me looking and held the pack out to me, offering me one.

I breathed in before taking a seat next to him on the couch, accepting his offer.

"How old are you anyways, Rich Boy?" he asked looking over at me.

The idea of having a casual conversation with him seemed strange, but in practice it felt rather quaint. "I'm fifteen."

He raised his eyebrows, as though surprised. "You're _fifteen_?"

"Um... That's what I said, yes," I answered.

Duncan held out his lighter for me and I started on my cigarette. They tasted the same as I remembered, very dry and rough. I was beginning to get used to the ones Justin had given me, and the bitter flavor of Duncan's conflicted drastically with the cool mint one of the other.

He looked down at the smoke between his two fingers. "Wow, dude, you're a baby." He chuckled.

Slightly offended, I retorted, "Well, how old are you then?"

"Older than I wanna be."

"That isn't an answer."

He smiled at me, showing those crooked teeth. I think he appreciated the fact that I didn't settle for vagueness. "I'm nineteen."

Duncan took a drag on his cigarette and I followed after. Blue Skies was a very quiet part of town, though it could have just been the fact that it was a Sunday afternoon. The more the two of us sat together the less I noticed how revolting the taste of his cigarettes were. Perhaps Duncan didn't particularly like the taste either. Maybe smoking was more of a social thing for the Townies. His company seemed to numb the terrible taste for me; it could have been the same for them.

Duncan yawned. "I'm beat."

The house behind us was a small one, likely one-story and maybe an attic. I wouldn't be able to survive in a place like that. Its paint was chipping and foundation crumpling. If I hadn't known Duncan inhabited it, I'd have believed it was abandoned. The wooden planks below the couch looked old and rotted, creaking with every small movement. And several of the windows were broken.

It was... different. Very far from what I was used to.

"Is this where you live?" I inquired.

"Um..." He paused, as if thinking of a way to explain. "Kinda. This is my dad's house. My mom's house-" He pointed towards the other side of the town with his cigarette hand, across the street. "-is _way _over there. My room and everything is in her house. When I stay here I just sleep on the couch."

"_This_ couch?" I asked, touching the cushions.

He snorted. "Yeah, my dad makes me sleep outside."

I knitted my brows, nodding. How fascinating, the way poor people live.

He grinned at me. "I'm kidding."

Oh. I looked down at my feet. How foolish of me. I didn't want Duncan to think of me as a child, but my naivety only made it seem that he was right. To cover up for my stupidity, I pushed our conversation forward. "So, is it just you and your parents then?"

He shook his head, taking another drag on his cigarette. "Nah, my brother and me live with our mom, and my dad's girlfriend and her daughter live with him."

"Your parents are divorced?"

He sighed. "It's complicated, dude."

I didn't say anything after that. The two of us sat on his couch in speechlessness, looking forward at nothing in particular.

"Say, Duncan," I began. The sudden break of silence startled me, although I was the one to break it. "Why were you up there on that roof anyways? When I crashed my bike?"

He laughed. "Just chilling."

I didn't like vagueness, of course not. But there was nothing else I cared to ask at that point.

* * *

It was about twenty minutes before Duncan pulled out his phone and let me know that my bike was done. I didn't want to get up; I was quite enjoying the peace. But it would have been wrong of me to prolong my staying here in Blue Skies.

That Henry's garage was rather small and cramped. It seemed he had a loving for bikes and hubcaps, since the place was riddled with them. In piles off to the corner, mounted on walls, upon shelves, like an auto-catacomb. That bike I had seen Duncan sitting on the night before was among them. It smelled like oil and cigarette smoke, and somewhere in the background the lyrics 'where's the door, just get me out of here, we're going down' played, distorted by static and poor radio quality.

I felt so out of place in that garage. I felt so out of place in that _entire _part of town. It was like being in Greaser territory, only more low class. And much more frightening since the Townies were mostly huge and could kill me.

"Here ya go, Rich Boy," that Henry said as he guided me by the shoulder to the back of his garage. The man towered over me. His hand was so strong and heavy, and his voice was so cold. It all sent a chill up my spine. "I fixed it up all nice 'n pretty for you." I couldn't really tell whether or not he was being nice to me from the dark nature of his voice. It was hard to determine.

It was covered in a canvas blanket, which he pulled off to reveal my bike. I breathed deeply. It didn't look very good. It certainly looked _ridable_, sure. That wasn't my problem. My problem was that I couldn't be seen on this! Henry had replaced the broken front wheel with one that did not match the back. Its rubber was much thicker and notably worn out. The rim was a different color from the Aquaberry blue of the rest of my vehicle and the fork and head tube were blotched with rust.

"I had to replace a good part of your front set, Rich Boy. You really jacked it up." He laughed lightly, but it sounded rather dark to me. He pushed the front wheel so it would spin. As smooth as it was, I wasn't satisfied.

I was in an odd frontier; stuck between not wanting to offend the Townies out of fear for my life, and desperately itching to berate them for turning my bike into this pile of rubbage.

"Looks cool," Duncan broke in, saving me from having to say anything. He punched my shoulder. "Told you Henry could fix it."

I rubbed the back of my neck. "Yes, I suppose he did..." I suppose you only get what you pay for.


	9. Chapter 9

For a Townie bastard, Duncan was okay. He and I were _not _friends, nor would we _ever _be, but I found him tolerable.

Despite the fact that my bike looked horrible, I appreciated him having his friend repair it to a ridable state for me. And despite the fact that he was too senseless to buy me a pack of _good_ cigarettes when I asked, I appreciated him taking the time to buy me _anything_.

He was ugly, stupid, and poor, but he was a fairly decent person.

For a Townie.

Duncan informed me of a path leading directly into the school parking lot, before the one to Happy Volts. He didn't show me, claiming he was too tired to walk all the way down there (as I said, decent _for a Townie_), but he told me exactly where it was, near the industrial area of Blue Skies through a tunnel. It was so convenient. Not only did I avoid New Coventry and the Greasers, but I also avoided passing anyone who mattered on my hideous excuse for a repaired bike.

It was a rather scenic path, as well. It crossed through the wooded area of Bullworth, very peaceful, and very hidden. If I were a pathetic, ugly Townie failure, I might have considered using that path to leave school. I'm sure that's how Duncan knew of it.

I thought, still pedaling down the path. Duncan really wasn't _that _ugly. For a Townie, he was actually... sort of...

I skidded to a stop. Wait a minute, where had _that _thought come from?

Duncan? He was repulsive! His teeth were crooked and he dressed like a slob, the little hair he had was dirty and he always looked like he was squinting.

He was muscular, but not to the point that it was blatant, with only a subtle hint of upper arm strength. He had a frame similar to most of the boys I'd been on dates with. His voice was surprisingly comforting. It was gravelly, but at the same time it was deep and smoky. And he was kind to me, even though he probably shouldn't have been. He didn't mind going out of his way to assist me with my stupid problems...

_Stop that!_

This was disturbing me. I shook those putrid thoughts from my head.

It must have been the heat.

Yes, of course. The heat. That wretched Bullworth heat.

The path didn't lead directly into the parking lot as Duncan had said, but rather the road connecting it to the street in front of the academy. Which was fine. I was still close enough to avoid any confrontation with my peers.

I left my bike against the broken down school bus near the auto shop, unsure of what else to do with it. I couldn't possibly bring it back to Harrington House; Derby would yell at me. I understood the likelihood of the Greasers finding it and taking it for themselves, but honestly, I hardly cared at that point. It wasn't like it was of any use to me looking like this.

I couldn't let _any_ of my friends see my bike like this!

But what was I going to tell them? My bike got stolen? I lost it? I forgot how to ride so I gave it to charity?

I rubbed my forehead. I shouldn't have had to deal with this. This was all that damned Townie's fault. My hands balled into fists at my sides and my eyes clamped shut. This whole situation was _infuriating_. The next time I'd see that Duncan, mark my words…

"Your bicycle just screams dumpster-find, Gord."

My eyes shot open. Oh, no. I spun around to face who was behind me.

I groaned. I was worried I'd find someone more important. "Shut up, Vandervelde."

Justin walked over to my side. He was in a polo and athletic shorts, carrying a gym bag over his shoulder. He didn't look sweaty yet, so he must have been on his way to the gym. Perfect timing.

"What did you do to it?"

What was I supposed to say? I crashed while acting out on my obsessive need to protect Pinky and had some gross Townie kids fix it for me because I didn't want to spend money?

"Uh... I don't know."

He knitted his brows. "You don't know?"

I rubbed the back of my neck. "Um... nope."

As clever as my excuse was, Justin wasn't buying it. He laughed. "I bet you foolishly left it out in the open and the Greasers came to switch your parts as some kind of joke."

Well, okay. I supposed that sounded better than the truth. I chuckled. "Alright, Vandervelde, it seems you have me figured out."

He shook his head. "Gord, you are pathetic."

"Yeah, whatever."

He and I walked towards the courtyard together. We were mostly silent, thank goodness. I wasn't in the mood to deal with his stupidity. Justin always showed up at the worst times. It was almost as though someone planned our encounters. How pathetic.

The school grounds were mostly empty, only one or two students off to the side. It was very quiet, so quiet that I felt uncomfortable. Justin's presence only added to that. He made the quiet feel tense.

I internally sighed in relief once we reached the fountain. We were about to part ways. Justin would head off towards the gym, I'd probably go back to Harrington House; we wouldn't have to see each other for the rest of the day.

I didn't bother saying goodbye to him, merely starting off towards Harrington House. Before I could make it very far, Justin held me in place by my shoulder. I glared. It must have been foolish of me to believe he'd let me go without delivering some snarky comment first.

"You know," Justin began. He held a straight face, but a smirk clearly lined his voice. "Chad has the exact same bike model as you. He just bought it a few days ago."

"So?" I had no clue where he was going with this. And really, I didn't care. I just wanted to get away from him.

"So... I'm sure no one would notice if you rode his bike instead of your own."

I cocked my head to the side. He was always going on about something. "What are you talking about?"

Justin rolled his eyes. "Are you an idiot? Just take his bike for yourself!"

My jaw dropped. "You're suggesting I steal Chad's bike? You must be mad!"

He had to have been joking. I couldn't steal from a fellow Prep! Especially not when said fellow Prep had done absolutely nothing to provoke me into stealing from him. Chad and I weren't exactly close, but we weren't unfriendly with each other. Not like me and Vandervelde.

Justin got closer to me, his voice low. "Well, has anyone seen you on that abomination?"

"No." Thank god.

"Then who'd notice? Chad's bike is brand new with no distinguishing features."

I laughed. He couldn't possibly be serious, could he? "Um, Chad would notice when his bike has gone missing."

He backed away, feigning acceptance. "Well, alright then. Unless you want to stick with that pile of trash, I guess you're bike-less." He turned on his heels, towards the gym.

"Just remember," he said, giving me a final look over his shoulder. "It's an option."

An option? It most certainly was _not _an option! Stealing Chad's bike? That was absurd.

What would happen should I get caught in the act of stealing his bike? He'd hate me! He'd probably get the other Preps to hate me, too. I'd have to hang out with poor kids! My whole life and future would be ruined!

I couldn't risk that. I had a reputation. I wasn't some thieving, lowlife thug.

_An option._

Justin was insane.

An option…


	10. Chapter 10

Monday arrived rather painfully. I had a terrible weekend and never properly ameliorated. It was just one thing after another, and it was all becoming too much for me to handle. Justin, those Townie kids, the thought of something happening to Pinky, my bike; I was carrying far too much on my shoulders and was ready to collapse under the weight.

Maybe I was just being dramatic. I needed a smoke.

That morning, after waking up early on a school day, I came to the dreadful realization that I only had three of those expensive cigarettes Justin had given me left. I could have believed that my spirit left my body to use them against my knowledge since I hadn't noticed I'd been smoking so much. I must have been under more stress than I thought. There were only ten cigarettes in the pack, but still. That was seven in just two days.

I certainly was not going to ask Justin to purchase me more, as asking him of _any _sort of favor was beneath me. I didn't really want to ask the Townies again, mainly because they were all idiots.

Oh, well. I made the decision to cut back until I knew what to do about this, only smoking half that Monday morning. It was difficult to put the cigarette out without finishing it entirely. It was almost as though the intoxicating flavor was begging me to keep going. But I knew if I wanted to experience it again, the cigarette needed to be saved.

Tad, Pinky, and I normally walked to school together. Ordinarily I'd be the last one up and they'd have to wait on me, but we switched roles that day.

Pinky made me wait for her outside of her bathroom door while she showered. I sat on her bed for almost an hour, listening to her sing Supermodel as loudly as she possibly could behind the sound of running water.

"You better _work!_" I cringed every time she hit a high note. "_Covergirl!_"

Pinky claimed she took so long because she liked to be thorough, but I knew she was probably more caught up in her performance than she was with getting clean.

Tad wasn't much better. His showers weren't very long, but he took forever to do his hair. He had to comb it, put mousse in it (a 'special' kind by L'Oreal), comb it again, yell at loose strands for not cooperating with him, rinse and repeat. I jokingly told him that he was probably worse than that Peanut Greaser, and he threatened to punch me in the face should I ever say that to him again.

Once they were both acceptably pretty for the day, we had about ten minutes to kill. I decided to take the two of them to the broken down bus in the parking lot before we headed to homeroom. Pinky and Tad dropped their jaws upon seeing my bike.

I rubbed the back of my neck, embarrassed of its condition. "Yes, I know..."

"What the bloody hell happened to it?" Tad inquired.

"I hit a wall," I replied shamefully, throwing my arms at my sides. "It's awful, isn't it? I had to have those Townie kids fix it because Daddy would murder me if I spent _another _couple hundred dollars getting my parts replaced." I rubbed my face. "This is terrible!"

They stared at me, silent. I expected them to say something, or at least widen their eyes a bit, but they just stared on.

But then they cracked into laughter, as though this was somehow humorous. Some friends I had.

I glared at them. "You think this is _funny?_"

"It's hilarious!" Pinky responded between giggles. "Why are you always running into walls?"

She had some nerve. "First of all, Pinky, I'm not _always _running into walls. I've only ran into walls twice before."

Tad snorted. "That's still pretty pathetic."

I ignored him. "Second, the reason I'm showing you two is because I thought you were both good enough friends to not make a mockery of my problems." I crossed my arms, hoping to appear stern. They should have respected me enough to understand that this was not a laughing matter.

Pinky giggled. "Well, what are we supposed to do about this?" she asked.

I searched my head for a response. I didn't know what they were supposed to do! Isn't that what friends were for, to make suggestions for when you didn't have the answers yourself? "How should I know? But I sure as hell can't be seen out in public on _this_!"

Actually, I was offered a solution the day before, but it was completely unthinkable.

"Well," I began, my voice small. "You know, Justin proposed a solution."

Tad leaned in closer to me. "What'd he say?"

I explained Justin's suggestion from the previous day on our walk towards the school. Tad and Pinky didn't appear to be too surprised, which I found rather odd. After all, I thought it was pretty shocking to hear from Vandervelde's mouth.

Tad nodded. "That sounds like Justin, alright."

I was a bit dumbfounded to hear that. "It does?" It didn't sound like any Prep I'd ever met, stealing from one of their fellows.

"Justin and Chad have been arguing a lot lately. He probably wants to make Chad upset."

"Arguing? About what?"

"No one really knows, honestly," Pinky broke in. "_They_ probably don't even know at this point. They're just dragging it out because they're immature."

I scoffed. Justin was so pathetic. Naturally, I wanted to side with Chad on this, even without knowing the context. The three of us entered the school building, which was rather full at this time. Class was in a few minutes.

"Then what should I do here?"

Tad shrugged. "Well, the way I see it is you could either take Chad's bike or not."

Pinky looked concerned. "Gord, don't let Justin pressure you into committing a crime!"

Pressure me? Justin would do no such thing. "Surely I'm not going to encourage Justin's absurdity just because he and Chad are in some childish feud. That is _so _beneath me."

* * *

I usually went to my locker to collect my things right after homeroom. It wasn't easier or more convenient for me, it was just a preference. I had time to get my books before the day began, but I always wanted to put off lugging around my supplies for as long as I could.

But that day, Hattrick, my homeroom teacher, made me stay in his room after the bell rang for a few minutes. I owed him my special success payment which exempted me from doing his homework. He didn't have a class until second period, so it was the best time for him. He gave me a pass after our transaction was complete, excusing me for being late to my class.

The halls were empty when I left his room, only the occasional prefect roaming around. I flashed them my hall pass when they looked like they were ready to question me, and they left me alone.

My locker was around the corner from Hattrick's classroom. In there I left my leather Aquaberry satchel which I used to carry around my textbooks. It wasn't my favorite bag, so I viewed it as disposable. If it were stolen I could simply use one of my others.

I took my time gathering my materials for the day. I was in no hurry to get to biology with Slawter (his class was disgusting, and he scared the life out of me). I hunched over, picking a book off of the floor of my locker and shoving it into my bag. The book was slightly too big, so I had to use force.

"Hey, Gord," someone called. He had a stupid Italian-American accent, so I knew what I could expect. I looked up, still hunched over.

That damned Peanut Romano.

He was by the drinking fountain, a big smile plastered on his face. I swallowed. Peanut was a larger Greaser, capable of harming me without any help of backup. And I was there alone. This wasn't good. It was just the two of us, standing across from each other in the hallway. He began to approach me.

Tense, I returned my attention to my books, hoping he'd go away. In all honesty, I was sure he'd try to beat me up. I didn't have an idea what good reason he'd have to beat me up, but why else would he want to talk to me? With every step closer the more quickly I threw my books into my bag.

Until he was right next to me. I froze. He leaned against my neighbor locker, smacking loudly on some gum and nodded me a greeting. Or at least I think he did. I was too afraid to make any facial contact so I just stared at his torso.

"What's up?" I could hear the smirk behind his words.

I didn't say anything, just stood there hunched over staring at his torso. I must have looked incredibly pathetic.

"We heard you were wanderin' around New Coventry yesterday." He chuckled. "Our friend said you looked a little outta place."

Wandering? I was _wandering_? Like some lost child?

I stood up, now annoyed. "I don't _wander_, Greaseball." He was notably bigger than me, but I hardly cared. I felt insulted and needed to put him in his place. "I'll have you know I had a reason to be there."

"Oh yeah? What reason?"

I opened my mouth to speak but my words caught. Oh, dear, I hadn't thought this through. What was I going to say? I couldn't possibly tell him that I was crossing through New Coventry on my way to Blue Skies. "Um... I was just..." He raised his eyebrows, still grinning. "...going for a walk, you know." Nice save, Gord. "I don't _wander_. There's a difference."

He tilted his head to the side, as though considering it, but obviously making fun of me. I flushed. "Uh-huh. That's funny, 'cause we heard you were walkin' around with one a' those white trash trailer kids with some messed up bike."

Damn.

With nothing left to say, I simply spat at him, "Why are you so obsessed with me?"

He bellowed a laugh.

"How about you stay out of my business, Greaseball. How does that sound?"

"Sounds fine. S'long as you stay off our turf. Don't let us catch you wandering down there again." He pushed himself off of the locker with his shoulder and sauntered down the hall, chuckling.

Infuriating. "_I don't wander!_" I called after him.


	11. Chapter 11

Duncan's bike was still sitting in the Harrington House lawn, and Derby was not pleased with it being there. I couldn't blame him. The thing was unsightly, just lying there on the ground. It made the lawn look like one of those in Blue Skies, forgotten bikes and other assorted bits of trash littering the lawns in front of each trailer. Derby would have none of it. He had been patient up until now and wanted the bike gone by his awakening on Tuesday morning.

If I had been in my right mind, I'd have sought the Townies out at the carnival to return the bike to Duncan directly. But I wasn't in my right mind. Rather than giving it back to him, I left it in front of the auto shop around midnight. Let the Greasers have their fun with it, was my mindset. He had another bike anyways, didn't he? The one I saw him with on Saturday? What about all of those bikes in that Henry's garage that he could borrow?

He didn't need this.

I was just lethargic. I didn't want to make the efforts required to give him his bike back. I didn't want to deal with these problems. Out of my hands, off of my back, right?

Right.

That was all fine and good. For a while I had no problems, absolutely nothing to worry about.

Until that Friday.

I checked back on the bike earlier that week, the following Tuesday, to ensure it had been taken. It was gone when I looked, so my job was done. Derby wasn't complaining, it was out of my hands. Never again did I have to deal with Duncan's bike.

The week had passed relatively smoothly with nothing in particular to rant about. Obviously I decided against taking Chad's bike. Justin was ridiculous for suggesting such a thing. A situation where I'd need an excuse for my lack of bike never came up, so the other Preps were still unaware. I wasn't going to bring it up myself, lest I seem suspicious. But it was a pain going everywhere on foot.

Though, the more I thought about it, the more taking Chad's bike for myself tempted me.

I repeatedly saw him riding around Bullworth Vale that week when I was out for a walk or sitting under the gazebo. He was unknowingly taunting me. I wasn't mad at him; it wasn't his fault any of this had happened to me. And I wasn't exactly jealous. But surely I wish I had a bike of my own to ride. One that didn't look terrible.

But, despite everything, I swore to myself that I would never, ever steal from one of my fellows, no matter what the circumstances.

By the time Friday rolled around I was a bit antsy. I was officially out of those expensive cigarettes Justin had given me, and I was, as he put it, bike-less. Tad and Pinky were still laughing at me though I warned them that I was going through nicotine withdrawal and it was growing old. I didn't want to deal with their nonsense.

I decided it would be in my best interest to avoid other people for a while. I wasn't in the mood.

I rarely went to The Vale Centennial Garden anymore, but when I did it was usually because I had nothing better to do. I didn't have a bike to ride around on, and my friends were annoying me. That day after school the other Preps said something about going to the carnival, so I expected to find some alone time at the park.

It was a small park, with only two separate basketball courts and a few benches. Because of this it wasn't very popular among the citizens of Bullworth; there wasn't much to do. I used to go there as a child with Pinky and Tad, but even then we hardly did anything besides sit around and chat.

I sat on one of the benches, elbows resting on my knees and face buried in my hands. I was so stressed out. I shouldn't have had to deal with this many problems at once. I needed a smoke desperately, but I had none. I sat there in silence for several minutes in my own self-pity.

A groan escaped my mouth, echoed by a mocking one that was not mine.

I looked up from my hands to the sight of something I wasn't expecting.

That damned Justin Vandervelde.

He was shooting a basketball into the court hoops in front of me. I wasn't too happy to see him. As used to him following me around as I was, I was honestly shocked to see him. I thought he had gone to the carnival with the other Preps.

I glared. "What the hell are you doing here, Justin?"

He looked over to me with false surprise, as though he hadn't noticed my presence. He was full of it. He brought a hand up to his chest, holding the basketball under his free arm. "Gord! I hadn't expected to see you here!"

Justin began to approach me as I brought my face back to my hands. If I couldn't handle my friends at a time like this there'd be no way I could possibly handle a person as obnoxious as Vandervelde.

He took a seat next to me on the bench. "I was looking for you."

I laughed, not looking up to him. Wasn't he always?

"Really now, I didn't think you'd have it in you."

That grabbed my attention. "What are you going on about now?"

I hadn't done anything since our last encounter, so I honestly had no clue what he was talking about. My initial thought was my bike, and telling the other Preps the truth about what had happened. But he didn't even know the truth, so that couldn't have been it.

"I'm going on about you taking Chad's bike." Justin wasn't smirking. He looked dead serious. Mad, even.

His words took a moment for me to process. Chad's bike? "What? I did no such thing!" I almost leapt off of the bench.

He parted his legs to dribble the basketball between his feet. He held an angry air, and for that I was apprehensive. Why would he possibly think I had stolen Chad's bike? I explained to him before that I was against the idea. Actually, why would he think _anyone _had stolen it would be a better question to ask.

"Why, is it gone or something?"

Justin rolled his eyes, aggravated. "Don't play stupid, Vendome. He went to take it out after school and it was gone."

I hesitated. "W-Well, perhaps he misplaced it or something."

"Chad isn't as inept as you, Gord. He doesn't leave his possessions lying around."

"Well, I certainly did not take it!" I said, nearly shouting now, as I rose from the bench to tower over him.

He stood up after me. Justin was taller than I was, by about six inches, and although he was a scraggy thing, I was far less intimidating in comparison. He glared. "Well, neither did I."

But I wasn't afraid of Vandervelde. He was one of the most pathetic people I knew. I returned his glare and stepped closer, practically prodding his chest with mine at this point.

He sighed. "Look, Gord, I'm not accusing you of taking it..."

I softened a bit at that. That was good... I supposed.

"...but I am not the one who matters here, because Chad is accusing _me _of taking it."

I scoffed. "Why should I care about your problems?"

His anger returned. "Because, Gord, Chad is threatening to tell all of the other Preps I took it if it isn't returned to him."

My heart skipped a beat. I didn't care about Justin, but his tone was suggesting something that I was sure I wouldn't like. I stepped back, nervous.

Justin smirked. "I know a lot of things about you, Gord," he began, stepping closer to me. His voice was low and cocky. I did _not _like this.

I furrowed my brows in fear and brought my hands to my chest. I felt so small, like a bullied child.

"And if you didn't take Chad's bike, then you'd better hope whoever did returns it before everyone in our clique finds out the dirty secrets of Gord Vendome."

This was terrible. "Y-You can't blackmail me! How on Earth am I supposed to know where his bike went?"

Justin didn't care. He gave me one last angry smirk as he made his way towards the exit.

I didn't watch after him, since I was frozen in place. Justin didn't know many truthful things about me, but he knew some things that could be made to look terrible. He could accuse me of sleeping with Townie trash, he could tell the Preps that the Greasers played a cruel joke on my bike.

Or he could inform them of my smoking.

I cursed under my breath. This...

...was awful.

**[[a/n: the way i write him probably makes it seem like i hate justin, but i actually have a huge crush on him, haha. anyways i'm sorry about how short my chpts have been lately. i'm sort of stuck between not wanting to make them too short but also not wanting to make them longer than necessary. w/e.]]**


	12. Chapter 12

**[[a/n: thanks again for all the nice reviews so far. they mean a lot. i wouldn't have any motivation to continue this if it wasn't for you all.]]**

Justin would blackmail me to save his own rear end. That was so like him. The prat couldn't face Chad himself because he was afraid of confrontation with people who weren't smaller. It was in my instinct to simply ignore his situation, to let him deal with his own problems. But he had threatened to expose my dirty secrets to our peers, and I couldn't ignore that.

I was at a loss for what to do. How was I supposed to know where Chad's bike had gone? I considered searching for it, but there were tons of places in Bullworth to look. I even considered buying Chad a new one, but Daddy would not have been pleased with that idea. A new bike would cost more than simply repairing one, and that was how I got into this mess in the first place.

My reputation as a high class individual was on the line. I had to do _something_.

Saturday morning, after a worried and sleepless night, I decided on asking around town to see if anyone had seen it.

It was a stupid idea, I knew that, but I didn't have any others. Pinky was there to help me. She made the cutest little flyers on pastel pink paper to hand around town, complete with drawings of swirly hearts and kitten stickers, but I was far too anxious to fully appreciate her creativity.

'LOST EXPENSIVE BIKE! PLEASE HELP!'

Every time Pinky handed an adult a flyer, I kept a distance so she could give them her routine. She'd pout and fake cry, rubbing her dry eyes as she sobbed in false desperation, begging them to please return it to the school should they find it. People were always more willing to listen to the cries of a girl when they thought she was crying for herself rather than for another person.

For the most part, Pinky was convincing. There were times when she'd glance up at them to ensure they were still listening, but that was okay. They appeared to show legitimate concern, assuring her that they'd keep an eye open for it, and she was pleased with herself for helping me. But I noticed as they continued their walks, they'd ball up the flyers and toss them to the ground, continuing on with their lives as though they hadn't ever encountered her.

How rude.

We did this for hours, all over Old Bullworth Vale and throughout the commercial district of town. We went to each bike shop to check if anyone had brought in an Aquaberry Cruiser to sell for parts, but to no avail. The bike shop owner in Bullworth Town was nice, though, allowing us to hang up the last one of Pinky's flyers in his window.

And that was it. She went through all of her flyers by two in the afternoon without a single lead. Either no one had seen it or no one cared. Most likely the latter.

I sighed, taking a seat on the curb in front of the Bullworth Town bike shop after our exit. "This is hopeless," I whined, burying my face in my palms. "I may as well accept the fact that my social life is over."

Pinky sat next to me, placing her hand on my shoulder. "Oh, come on now. Don't give up." Her voice was warm and comforting, which I appreciated. But I couldn't have been soothed in a situation such as this.

I looked up at her, wearisome from all of this nonsense. "What else are we supposed to do, Pinky? No one wants to help us and I'm out of ideas." I groaned, bringing my face back to my hands. "It's over," I said, my voice muffled. "Justin is going to ruin my reputation and I'll have to start hanging around with _poor kids_."

It was silent for a moment, which I found odd. I expected Pinky to give me more comforting words of encouragement. I peeked up, surprised to find her holding an expression of anger. She huffed, taking her hand off of my shoulder. "You are pathetic, Gord." That once soothing voice was now harsh, annoyed. The sudden shift in her tone was startling.

"That's not exactly what I need to hear right now, Pinky."

"So you're just going to take this?" She stood up, towering over me with her hands on her hips. "I'm disappointed in you. What happened to the Gord I know? The one who never settled for failure?"

I groaned. I knew Pinky. By nature she was an optimistic person, but this wasn't a very promising situation that I was in. "Well, what else am I supposed to do then?" I retorted, standing up to face her. I appreciated her coming to help me and provide support, but she wasn't making me feel much better now. "We already asked everyone in town."

"Well, maybe we should start _looking_."

Pinky was crazy. Bullworth was a huge town; there were tons of places to look! "Do you know how long that'd take?"

She rolled her eyes. "We don't have to look _everywhere_." She spoke to me as though I were clueless. _'Duh!'_

I cocked my head. "Then where should we look?"

"Where was the last place Chad saw his bike?"

I thought. Pinky may have been onto something. "Well, Justin said that Chad went to get his bike from the shed Friday after school."

"Then we should go look around in the shed!"

* * *

The shed beside Harrington House wasn't used for much besides storing our bikes and equipment for the gardeners (or Hopkins whenever he was given a detention). It was never kept locked because of that; there wasn't anything of particular value inside. But that was no excuse for stealing from it.

Any of us could afford to replace what was inside the shed, but it was still bothersome having to do so. No one likes being stolen from. It was an invasion of security and felt terrible. I imagine it'd feel even worse when the person suspected of stealing was a friend.

Pinky slid the shed doors open, the earthy scents of soil and grass hitting us in a wave. It was a large shed, though not well lit, very dark and shadowy, illuminated only by the light entering from the open doors. It was kept relatively neat and organized, but the dust was getting to me.

I sneezed. "Oh, my." Allergies, you know. "Alright Pinky, I don't want to stick around in her for long, so let's look around and get out."

"You got it!"

Despite it being a large shed, there weren't many places to look. The sides were lined with shelves and lawn equipment and towards the back corners were where we kept our bikes chained up. That was about it.

"Okay Gord, you look around the front and I'll do the back."

"Good idea." We'd cover more ground if we split up.

We could've been quieter, and we could've been neater. Pinky and I searched hastily, tossing buckets and shovels and other gardening tools to the ground as we looked, each falling with a loud clatter. The sooner we found clues as to where Chad's bike disappeared to, the sooner my reputation could be saved.

I didn't find anything of notability among the shelves, only trowels and cultivators and other typical gardening things. A couple of clay pots fell to the ground and shattered during my search, but I couldn't be bothered to worry about them.

Pinky asked for my help when she wanted to look behind some bags of soil. We moved them together, finding nothing but disappointment.

I was ready to give up. We weren't coming across any leads; our short trail had gone cold.

I heaved a sigh. "Pinky, let's just call it quits..."

She wasn't listening to me, still searching as I dragged my feet towards the shed doors. I could hear her tossing over the other Preps' bikes behind me, though carefully pushing hers to the side, when she gasped. "Gord, look!"

Honestly, I was fully prepared to stop caring about anything at that point, but Pinky was so excited that she had thought she found something, hopping in place and flailing her hands. I didn't want her to feel as though her efforts were wasted, so with a sigh, I walked over to her side to see what she had found.

"Look!" She pointed to the corner ground. "See, that was underneath all of the bikes, like someone was trying to hide it!"

Thank goodness I didn't have it in my heart to turn away from Pinky, because she had found gold. It was Chad's bike lock, reflecting light from outside, making it easy to notice in the darkness of the shed. But it wasn't unlocked as if someone had taken it out for a simple ride. I bent down to pick it up for further examination. The lock had been cut, probably with a bolt cutter, which I explained to Pinky.

I brought a hand up to my chin. "So, it's definitely been stolen. Chad isn't framing anyone."

"Whoever stole it had access to the right tools for the job."

I nodded. "And easy access to Harrington House."

Pinky looked at me. I knew exactly what she was thinking; I was thinking the same.

Those dirty Greaseballs.

* * *

Of course it was those Greasers. How did we not think of it sooner? They hated us, always coming up with new ways to make our lives difficult. And taking their stupid obsessions with bikes into consideration, they had quite a few things to gain from stealing our property. They would have angered us, and they could have used Chad's bike for... well, whatever it was they did with bikes. Take them apart to put back together or something.

The auto shop was directly across from Harrington House. Getting to our territory would be simple for them. They must have snuck into the shed on Thursday night while we were all sleeping, broken Chad's bike lock, and brought it over to their gross turf. Despicable.

I was ready to give those bastards a piece of my mind.

Or, at least, I _wanted _to.

While standing there in front of the auto shop entrance with Pinky at my side, I couldn't help but feel anxious. It was just the two of us with no other form of defense should we be attacked. I couldn't possibly take on all of them, and knowing Pinky, she simply wouldn't want to.

"Um, Pinky... maybe we should go get Bif or Parker to help us..."

Pinky looked down on me. "What would we need them for? We'll be fine."

I shifted in place. "What if they threaten violence?"

"Oh Gord, come on, don't be silly," she chortled. "They wouldn't hurt _me_, I'm a girl!"

Well, at least I wouldn't have to worry about _that_.

"Here," Pinky began, extending her arm to grab my hand. "Let's hold hands. It'll be fine!"

"You don't know that."

The sensation of anxiety I felt then and there was akin to that of the previous Sunday, when Duncan and I crossed through New Coventry to get my bike repaired. It was distressing being faced with a path through rival territory, of course. But there were no Greasers near the auto shop entrance. Perhaps that was a good sign.

I breathed in, forcing myself to believe that this wouldn't be too terrible.

"Okay, let's do this." I squeezed Pinky's hand, and she gave me a reassuring squeeze back.

The first several steps into the auto shop weren't hard, and the further in we went the easier it became to move without telling myself to. I couldn't see any Greaseballs anywhere. Maybe they weren't here. I sighed, relieved. My anxiety was diminishing.

I wasn't exactly sure where we were supposed to look. The layout of this place was unfamiliar to me. Maybe wherever they kept bike parts would be a good place to begin. The repair bay buildings, perhaps?

The garage door to the first repair bay was closed. I braced myself with Pinky at my side before bending over to lift it up. I wasn't sure what to expect. I supposed the worst that could've been on the other side would be a bunch of Greasers, and the worst that they could've done would be to chase me and Pinky out of the auto shop, because I sure as hell would not stick around to fight them all.

"Come on, open it already!" Pinky nudged me.

Well, here it goes. I squeezed my eyes shut as my arms lifted the garage door to their own will, as slowly and dramatically as they possibly could. It felt like an hour had passed before the door was fully opened, and once it was, I forced myself to look.

Pinky and I stood silently, taking it all in. I honestly hadn't prepared myself at all for this.

It was empty. Completely barren, only several crates off to the side, none of which were large enough to fit a bike.

I groaned. "Great. So all of this was for nothing." Who keeps an entire repair bay empty?

Pinky clicked her tongue. "There's another building that we haven't checked out, you know."

She was right, but I wasn't very hopeful. Honestly, the more I thought about it, the more ridiculous the idea of those Greasers taking Chad's bike sounded. They may have been a bunch of poor, disgusting welfare cases, but even they would have had better things to do with their lives, wouldn't they? They had hobbies and interests and motivation to do productive things with their time.

Not like those Townie kids.

My eyes widened at that thought. It hit me like a load of bricks.

"Those thieving bastards!"

Pinky gave me a look. "Gord!"

It all made sense now. It _must _have been the Townies. All of those bikes in that Henry's garage, and Omar storing that one Duncan was with last Friday in their trunk. They were bike thieves! Typical low-class.

"Pardon my language, Pinky, but I think we have our culprits."


	13. Chapter 13

Those Townie kids were nothing but poor, thieving heaps of trash. This entire situation was completely unacceptable; how dare they try to get away with such an act! They must have been mentally damaged to believe that we wouldn't retaliate, because I was more than prepared to do so.

Though I knew I had nothing to do with it, I somehow I felt the robbery of Chad's bike was my own fault. Perhaps if I had never gotten involved with those Townies they would have left it alone. Maybe because of my docility and reluctance to put them in their place, they thought it was perfectly okay to take from us Preps. I should have known better than to treat them kindly. I should have known better than to associate with poor kids, period. I felt so stupid.

I shook those thoughts from my head. Preposterous, Gord! This was in no way your fault! I never told them to take it, nor did I ever give them hints as to where they could steal anyone's bike. This was _their _doing, no one else's, and I was determined to make sure they paid for their insolence.

Determined as I was, I pleaded I would only encounter Duncan, or perhaps that other smaller one would be fine, too...

Pinky and I waited for them near the carnival gate later that night. It was around eleven when we arrived, just after curfew. The two of us snuck out together through the parking lot, Pinky riding her teal Aquaberry bike and me tagging along on the handlebars.

I figured it wouldn't matter when we left since I assumed they'd already be there anyways. They always were, weren't they? But no, we were forced to wait. Honestly, for a while I feared they wouldn't show. How tedious. The one time I actually wanted to see them, they were nowhere to be found.

We stood there for a long, anxiety-ridden hour before Pinky started complaining that she was getting cold and tired. I ignored her and the chilly late-summer night air, far too focused on what I was planning on saying to those Townie bastards. First, I'd ask them to return the bike to me. If they were to refuse, I would be stern. I'd give them a warning. Should they ignore my warning, I would...

Erm...

Pinky elbowed me. "Gord, they're here!" She pointed to the three Townies emerging from the tunnel, heading in our direction. It was Henry, that Gurney (to Pinky's satisfaction), and yes, Duncan.

I panicked. Okay, uh, be stern, yes. Look them in the eyes and make your demands. They should at least appreciate your earnestness. Perhaps that would be worth something. Hold a steady voice, don't show fear, keep your head up...

"Hey, Rich Boy!" Duncan greeted me from afar. I jumped at the sound of his voice. He seemed somewhat happy to see me, a stupid grin spread across his face and a pleasant chirp lining his tone. It may have been sarcastic, I wasn't exactly sure. But regardless of why he sounded the way he did, whether he was pleased to see me or not, I knew what had to be done.

This was it. Time to give him a piece of my mind. I cleared my throat. "Duncan," I began. My voice quavered slightly, but I wanted to think no one noticed. I held my feet firmly on the ground and crossed my arms over my chest, mostly to hide the tremor that ran up my spine. "Come here."

The other two Townies stopped, looking to Duncan in amusement. An 'uh-oh, you're in trouble!' sounded from their crowd, obviously mocking, but I didn't let it upset me. They didn't scare me; I would take on all of them if I had to.

I just... really hoped I wouldn't have to.

Duncan laughed lightly before walking up to me, keeping a brisk pace as though I weren't a high priority. "'sup?" he said behind a burning cigarette dangling from his lips.

The black eye I had given him was beginning to fade, only a tint of blackish-purple remaining under his lower lashline. It wasn't puffy or infected or difficult to look at, but knowing that I had given it to him in the first place made me feel awful.

What was I doing again? Oh, that's right. "Um..."

He stared at me.

"Uh, y-you have something I need."

He furrowed his brows, bringing his fingers up to his mouth to clasp the cigarette and bring it down to his side. "I do?"

"Yes. A bike."

"A bike?" Duncan appeared confused. "Didn't we just fix your bike for you?"

I sighed. How was I supposed to put this?

"It's our friend's bike," Pinky broke in. "And, as much as _I'd_ hate to accuse you, Gord thinks you stole it."

"What? No!" Damn. "I-I mean... it's just that..." I thought. Pinky wasn't being much help right then. "...no one else could have taken it, you know?"

He sniffed, likely a bit indignant, bringing his cigarette back to his lips. "Right."

I hugged my torso, nervous. "So... you wouldn't have happened to have seen it, have you? It looks just like mine. It's dark blue and silver and _very _expensive."

Duncan pursed his lips, feigning thoughtfulness. "I might've. I see a lot of bikes, you know." Trash Heap knew just which bike I was referring to, I could tell by the way he spoke. He was so cocky. I could have winced; he was reminding me of Justin.

This was going nowhere. "Oh, come on Duncan! We're..." What were we, exactly? "...we're _friends_, aren't we?" I grinned. Of course Duncan and I weren't friends, but perhaps if I tricked him into believing we were, he'd be more willing to assist me. He was stupid enough to believe such a thing.

He stared on, expression unchanged, cigarette still burning in the corner of his lips. I guess he didn't buy it.

I chuckled, desperate. "Of course we are! That's why you should help me."

Duncan snorted. "You only talk to me when you want something. Besides," A grin spread across his face. I didn't like that particular grin. "That bike is mine now."

My eyes widened at that. I must have misheard him. "Excuse me?"

"Well, I mean you ran off with my other bike! I told Henry it was stolen so he went out and got me a new one." He sounded so casual, like this was something anyone would have been used to.

Goodness, this was ridiculous! "You can't just steal peoples' bikes because you can't afford one, Trash Heap! It isn't right!" Though, surely I wouldn't care for the ethicality of this situation should they have stolen from some other clique.

He brought his hands to his chest, defensive. "Hey, I didn't take it, Rich Boy! Henry did! He considers all the bikes he takes his, he just lets us use them. So if you want it back..." He stepped to the side, allowing a path towards his Townie friends in their usual loiter spot. "...you're gonna have to go talk to him."

Henry? I swallowed dryly.

"Uh, I would, but..." I hesitated. "...H-How about you talk to him for me instead?"

Duncan snorted, making his way back to his group.

There was no way on Earth the scrawny Gord Vendome could _possibly _convince someone as large and intimidating as that Henry to return stolen property. He would murder me! I sighed. It was time for a new plan. "Well, Pinky, I guess we have to..." I looked to my side, where I expected Pinky to be, only to find her absent.

"Pinky?"

Where could she have run off to?

I looked up. To my horror, she was over with those Townies, flirting around with that disgusting excuse for a human being, Gurney. "Pinky!"

The other Townies looked over to me, so I knew Pinky had to have heard me. But she ignored my call, continuing to twirl her hair and sway from side to side like some lovesick schoolgirl.

No, no way. This was unacceptable. She told me, directly to my face, that she would stay away from him. I expressed to her my concerns and she just completely disregarded them, as though I didn't even matter. If she didn't care about my feelings, I'd hope that at least she would care for her own safety. But this seemed to have proven otherwise.

Not if I could do anything about it. I would not stand by and allow this to take place.

This did nothing but add to my already seething amount of stress. My hands clenched at my sides before I marched up to her to grab her by the forearm, shocking both her _and _that Gurney in the process.

"Pinky, we need to go," I demanded as I tugged her arm in the opposite direction.

That Gurney bastard grabbed her other arm, shocking me. "What's the hurry?" He looked furious. "I didn't hear the lady say she _wants _to go, Rich Boy."

_This _was where I drew the line. How dare he put his hands on such a respectable young lady. He had some nerve. I looked him dead in the eyes. "_Who_ do you think _you are_?" I spat.

He looked back, matching my anger. "Let the lady go."

Poor Pinky, caught in the middle of this like some object.

"Gord, I don't want to leave yet!" she squealed, attempting to shake off my grip. Her expression read genuine disappointment, perhaps even a bit of frustration.

I was close to furious at this point. Of course she had no clue what she was doing or saying. Damned poor people and their manipulative ways. "I don't care. We _need _to leave, Pinky," I said, giving her arm another pull.

"Just let his girlfriend go, dude," Duncan said from the side with a laugh.

I released Pinky at the sound of his voice. "Sh-She is not my girlfriend!" My voice cracked, defensive. "We're just friends!"

Duncan scoffed. "Then who cares if she hangs out with us? We're nice guys." He chuckled, taking a drag from his cigarette.

I growled to myself. I turned to my friend, now released from that Gurney's grip, and jabbed a finger into her chest. "This is absurd, Pinky. I should have never brought you with me."

She crossed her arms, scowling. "You wouldn't even be in this situation in the first place if you weren't too stupid to keep from hitting walls on your bike!"

Henry and Duncan laughed from the side.

I could no longer take this. It was time to do what I came here for. I took a deep breath before walking up to that Henry. At that moment, I wasn't concerned with what would happen to me. I didn't care if he should threaten violence, I didn't care if he were to actually _become _violent. All I cared about was never having to do anything like this ever again.

He raised his eyebrows, a smirk on his bulky face, laughing on the inside. He must have found this very amusing. Prat.

Okay, here it goes. "Henry," I began, my voice surprisingly firm. "You have something that I need back."

The man was huge, perhaps even bigger than Bif. "Is that right?"

I nodded, keeping eye contact and holding my head high, despite my nervousness. "You took a friend of mine's bike and it is urgent that I return it to him."

"That really sweet one you took for me," Duncan added.

"That bike, huh?" Henry laughed. "That's a nice bike, Rich Boy."

I was near desperate. "I need it back! Please, I'm begging you!" There was little preventing me from dropping to my knees and pleading to him right there in front of everyone.

He narrowed his eyes. "I fixed your bike for ya, didn't I? I did ya a favor, Rich Boy, and I did it for free." He smiled, dark and cunning. "Consider this your payment."

A favor? "You did me a _favor_?" I was furious at this point. He had absolutely no right to steal Prep property and use it against me. Henry began to walk away from me, over to where Gurney was, before I grabbed him by the arm. "You did _not _do me a-" I was prepared to give him a piece of my mind, but my final word caught.

The man loomed over me, looking me dead in the eyes with nothing less than pure anger. I had never felt so tiny, so inferior.

My hand released his arm and curled into my chest. "-favor," I finished, my voice small.

He stepped closer to me, forcing me backwards, our eyes never breaking contact. He kept moving towards me until I was against the carnival wall, rendering me completely vulnerable. I gulped.

Henry continued to stare into me for what felt like hours before he finally said, "Alright, Rich Boy, tell ya what. You got something I want back, too." He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, bringing my face to his. I prayed he wouldn't ruin it; it was an expensive shirt. His breath was hot against my skin and reeked of cigarettes and hard liquor. "You give me the bike you ran off with back, and I'll give you the bike you want back."

I shuddered in his grip. "That... sounds fair."

He grinned, letting me back down. "Good." I immediately inspected my shirt collar. It was wrinkled, but I was sure it'd be fine. "You meet me by the bridge outside Blue Skies tomorrow night. I don't wanna see you again until then, so get outta here. Both a' you."

Pinky didn't object that time.

* * *

We should have headed back to Harrington House, but I collapsed to the curb outside of the tunnel. I had gotten rid of that bike days ago, leaving it outside of Greaser territory. I couldn't just walk into the auto shop and ask them for it back. They'd kill me.

I was close to tears. "This is hopeless, Pinky."

She rolled her eyes. "You're such a drama queen. Just give them the bike back!"

"That's the problem! I don't have it anymore!"

"Well then what the hell did you do with it?" came a voice from behind us.

Pinky and I turned in unison. It was Duncan, arms folded over his chest. He must have followed after us.

I snarled. "None of your business, Trash Heap."

He chuckled. "Of course it's my business! Henry stole that bike for me. If I don't get it back, and we don't keep the other one, I'm out a bike."

I groaned. "Duncan, just... get out of here. I can't deal with the likes of you right now."

He did just the opposite, taking a seat with me on the curb.

"Can't you just take someone else's bike?" Pinky suggested. "The Greasers must have more than enough."

Duncan shook his head. "_I_ wouldn't have a problem with that. But Henry hates the Greaseballs. He doesn't think their bikes are good enough or something stupid like that." He laughed.

I whined. "I don't know what to do, Trash Heap. I left that bike in front of the auto shop for those Greasers to deal with."

He shrugged. "Then take it back."

I supposed that I shouldn't have expected the boy who dragged me through New Coventry to understand my dilemma. I slammed my fists against the pavement. "You are no help, you know that, Trash Heap? My daddy says that people like you are _useless_."

Duncan raised his eyebrows, smiling. "Really? What a coincidence! _My _daddy tells me the same thing!"

Indubitably.

Pinky made a thoughtful noise. "Hey, I have an idea! How about you help us get it back from them, Duncan!"

I snapped my attention to her. "What? That is _the _worst possible idea you could have possibly-"

"Sounds like a plan!" Duncan interrupted me. He pushed himself to his feet. "You two should meet me by the school gates tomorrow around eleven. I know exactly how this needs to get done."

Pinky clapped her hands together. "This is going to be so much fun!"

I rolled my eyes, burying my face into my palms.


	14. Chapter 14

I waited for Duncan outside of the school gates, near a blind spot to shield me from any lurking prefects. They hardly patrolled off campus grounds at this hour, and for this I felt secure. It was possible to pay them to keep from getting me into trouble should they catch me in the act of criminality, but surely they'd force me back to Harrington House afterwards. My purpose behind leaving later was largely for this, but the fact that I just didn't like Duncan had something to do with it as well. That Townie prat deserved to wait on me for... something. I wasn't entirely sure for what, but...

...let's just say he deserved it for being poor.

But I wasn't very enthusiastic about this; the last way I wanted to spend my Sunday night was with Trash Heap.

He had told Pinky and I to meet him outside of the school by eleven the night before, but I didn't even leave until twelve. He would have already been there a good hour before I finally arrived. I couldn't help but laugh at the thought to myself; Duncan standing there outside of the gates, alone and confused, waiting for me. I could imagine him torn between leaving, disheartened by the fact that I had not shown, and staying, still anticipating my eventual arrival, like some lost, pathetic puppy.

It was a bit sadistic, sure, but amusing nonetheless.

I took the route I normally would to sneak off of campus, down the path behind Harrington House and around the library after everyone went to their rooms. It was more convenient that way; the main gates locked after curfew and the exit through the parking lot was far too distant. And I went alone. Pinky had fallen asleep around ten-thirty, asking me to wake her when the time came. I agreed, but I hadn't planned on following through. I wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible, without any distractions. As much as I loved Pinky, she would just get in the way.

When the time came that I finally reached the school gates, I faced a situation I hadn't prepared myself for at all: Duncan wasn't even there. It definitely threw me off a bit, but what else could I have expected from stupid, lazy, Townie trash? I chuckled to myself. The fool must have left after a while of waiting for me to show. Just as one could have expected from someone like Trash Heap.

How very funny! I crossed my arms over my chest, grinning widely. Duncan wasn't here! He had shown up, waited for a long while, and then left, all of his efforts wasted. He was probably feeling very let down now, as the boy was likely to be looking forward to this. Poor people had nothing else to live for. But now he couldn't help me get that bike back because he left too soon! That's what he deserved for being lazy trash. Poor, poor Duncan.

Yes, poor Duncan, indeed.

My thoughts cut to silence.

Wait a minute...

I paused, sudden realization hitting me like a train.

_Duncan wasn't here._

"Oh, damn it!"

Duncan _wasn't_ here. That meant he couldn't retrieve his bike from the Greasers, which meant I couldn't trade it with Henry for Chad's bike, which meant _Justin would destroy my reputation._

How could I have been so foolish? How could I have let him get away when he was fully prepared to assist me in saving my social status? I had ruined this for myself! This was terrible!

I forced myself to breathe. I shouldn't have been panicking. What are you doing, Gord? I had no clue what was happening to me. Some poor boy wasn't worth any of this. What I needed was to calm down and think. This wasn't so terrible. Perhaps I could tell Justin that I found Chad's bike in ruins on the side of a street somewhere. Justin would understand, wouldn't he?

_Justin would understand._

Goodness, I was such an idiot. To think, even for a second, that Justin was capable of understanding was absolutely ridiculous. I should have known better than to come up with such a thing.

It was time for a new plan. I mean, what could Trash Heap have possibly come up with that I couldn't? I would simply sneak into the auto shop, look around for the bike, and take it to Blue Skies through the path Duncan had informed me of. Simple! The Greasers were probably in their dorm rooms anyways.

That was good, wasn't it? Even though I didn't have the slightest idea on where to look, I was still sure it could have worked.

Although there was always the chance that a Greaser or two was still there working late on a project or something. If that were to happen, I was certain they wouldn't greet me very kindly.

Oh, god, what was I thinking? That was a horrid idea. Going down there alone at this late of an hour? I was growing hot with anxiety.

"'sup, dude!" a chirpy voice sounded from behind.

I spun around on my heels in absolute shock to face my company. It was Duncan, slinging a backpack over his shoulder as he climbed off of a rusty bike, parking it against the school walls. He was smiling at me innocently, completely unaware of the emotional turmoil his absence had just put me through. But I don't think I'll ever be as relieved to see anyone as much as I was to see Duncan then.

"Sorry I'm late, Rich Boy," he began. "I had other things to do first."

I let out a breath I had been subconsciously holding. "That's fine, Duncan." I hardly cared that he had arrived so late. All I could think of was how happy I was that he had actually shown.

He looked to me, still grinning, and I couldn't help myself from grinning back. That stupid smile was contagious, even with those obnoxiously crooked teeth. It was nice to know he hadn't given up on me. All of the anxiety and stress I felt prior to him arriving was immediately nullified by the fact that it really was for nothing. Ordinarily such a thing would have only angered me more, but I couldn't stay mad at Duncan. There was nothing to be mad about. He was late, sure, but-

Hang on a minute.

I paused for a moment, processing what he had said. _He_ was late? "What do you mean _you're_ late?" I demanded.

His grinning expression faded into one of confusion. "Uh... well, I got here later than you. Sorry for making you wait so long."

So that would mean that all this time, _I_ was the one waiting on _him_? Despicable! I wanted to puke at the thought.

I felt the need to rectify this. "N-No, you got here before me, left after finding I hadn't shown, and then came back just in case because you didn't want to disappoint me." That's what had to have happened. High class individuals such as myself never waited on poor people, regardless of whether or not we realized it.

Duncan snorted. "Yeah, alright, dude," he responded sarcastically. "Henry's waiting for us, so you ready for this?"

I groaned. "Fine." Ready to get it over with? Yes, most definitely.

* * *

Trash Heap and I rode to the auto shop's back entrance together up the school driveway, me situated on my usual spot atop his handlebars. No one was out at this time, not even the Bullies, for which I was grateful. For one thing, I didn't want anyone to see how stupid I looked sitting on Duncan's handlebars like some child, and for another, I didn't want anyone to see me with a Townie, period.

As annoying as this was, I continuously reassured myself that it was worth it; I was doing this for a good reason. And I continuously reminded myself that Duncan was here to help _me_. _I_ was the higher power here. _I_ was in control of _him_.

I did believe myself at first, but with his constant orders and directions ('Come over this way,' 'Go wait over there while I unlock the garage door,' 'Hand me my bag,' 'Quit looking so pissed off,' do this, do that) it became a difficult belief to hold.

Trash Heap had some nerve, showing up so late and then proceeding to make all these demands on me. I mean, he wasn't _demanding_ with his demands. In fact, he was actually quite kind. But it was the principal that got to me; poor people didn't order around their betters. It was an unwritten rule that everyone should abide by.

But Duncan didn't care for rules. Once we achieved entrance to the second repair bay - the one Pinky and I failed to check the day before - I mumbled to myself, "This is so criminal."

Duncan laughed at that, prying open a bike locker lining the back wall with a crowbar he had produced from his bag. "Y'know, Rich Boy," he began. "Sometimes I start to feel bad about the things I do."

He worked on a very specific bike locker, the second one from the right, completely ignoring the others. I assumed he had done this many times before. He seemed to know exactly how to go about it.

"But then I remember-" The locker door swung open. "-I don't care!"

I huffed. "Of course _you_ don't care. It's not like _you_ have a reputation to be concerned with or anything. I do."

He was ignoring me. "A-ha!" Duncan gestured me over to his side once he had the locker opened.

I don't know why, but I was surprised. Inside the locker was his bike, exactly as I had last seen it. I suppose that I was expecting it to be taken apart or something, but it was in perfect condition. Well, perfect as in not any different from how I left it. "How did you know where it'd be?" I asked with astonishment.

He shrugged. "We used to take bikes from the Greasebags all the time. I guess it never hit 'em that they should move their inventory."

I shifted in place, unwilling to admit that I was somewhat grateful for his help. Not only to him, but to myself. Having Duncan help me with something as delicate as my reputation was one thing, but appreciating him for it afterwards?

It just... felt so wrong.

* * *

Duncan and I made our way to the exit with so much ease that it almost felt unreal. We didn't run into any obstacles; no Greaseballs, no authority figures, no other students, nothing. Honestly, if I were in possession of a crowbar, I would've been more than willing to do this myself had I known how easy it'd be.

He discontinued his orders, as well. He didn't make me wheel the bike for him, which he did himself, using that same 'I'm a gentleman' reason. At least he was capable of some courtesy. Attaining the bike was over with, thank heavens. The final part to this nightmare was next to come: trading it with Henry for Chad's.

"I hadn't expected the bike to be there," I admitted to him. "I thought they would have dismembered it or something like that."

Duncan furrowed his brows as he situated himself on the bike he had arrived on, me on the one we had just taken. "Why would they do that?" he asked.

I shrugged, pushing the bike off to a start after him. "Well... I thought that's what they did with bikes. Take them apart to put back together, you know?"

"Take them apart to put back together," he repeated flatly. A chuckled escaped his mouth. "That's stupid."

"Well... what else would they do with the bikes they acquire?"

"Uh, I don't know. Ride them, maybe? Sell them for parts?"

Erm, well, I guess that would make sense. I looked downwards.

He laughed. "Me and my friends used to tell people that they would have sex with them."

I grimaced. "Why?"

He shrugged. "It was funny, I dunno. People actually believed us for a while."

Duncan and I kept our pace slow while on those trashy bikes. He reminded me that they were older, and the wheels were too noisy when moved faster. Strangely enough, I really didn't mind taking things slowly. Don't get me wrong, I wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible, but it was somewhat relaxing riding this late at night. There were no car horns, no other people. It was just me, Duncan, and the quiet whistle of the late-summer night breeze.

It was nice until Duncan extended his arm in front of me, skidding to a stop when we were about twenty feet from the arch. I stopped suddenly before his arm, practically falling forward. Startled by the abrupt stop, I asked, "What's wrong?"

"Looks like we got company," he said.

I looked forward, my heart skipping a beat. He was right. Standing in the arch was a tall figure shrouded in darkness, framed by the glow of the street lights behind them. I gulped. I couldn't tell who it was, but I assumed they were some teacher or other authority figure waiting to give me my punishment. This wasn't good.

The figure stomped towards us, fists clenched at their sides, leaving a trail of anger behind their steps. Duncan sighed. "Welp, I guess we're screwed."

I hesitated. No, not when we had already gotten this far. I wasn't giving up that easily. Instead I began to plot an escape route. The dirt trail to Blue Skies was so close. We could easily dart that way, avoiding the figure and all consequences. I doubted whoever they were could fully recognize me or Duncan in such darkness anyways.

"Duncan," I murmured, tugging at his shirt. "Let's take the dirt path!"

"Gord!" the figure screeched to me, shattering any escape route I had come up with. I knew that voice all too well.

Damn.

I cleared my throat as she approached us, completely recognizable at this point. "Erm, Pinky!" I laughed, nervous. I was in trouble. "Wh-What are _you_ doing out here? I thought you went to sleep!"

Pinky looked as though she had been awake for only a short while, her hair tied up and sporting navy blue Aquaberry sweat pants with a matching hoodie. She didn't even bother to accessorize. She was carrying a plastic bag on her shoulder like a tote, but I couldn't tell what was in it.

That was the least of my concerns, however. Pinky was not happy with me. She crossed her arms over her chest. "And I thought _you_ were going to wake me! You promised!"

"Hey, Rich Girl!" Duncan greeted her.

Pinky's expression and tone changed for him. "Hi!" she greeted back, as cheery and peppy as her normal self. Then she turned her attention back to me. "I waited all day for this, Gord! You remember how excited I was, don't you?"

It was true. All day long, she would speak nonstop of how exciting and dangerous this would be. She even picked out an outfit for the occasion; a black wool sweater with dark wash skinny jeans. Very 'Angelina Jolie', as she described it.

I thought all of her excitement was silly, but this meant a lot to poor Pinky. I needed to stop lying to her.

I searched my head for a lie to cover up my carelessness. "Well, I _was_ going to wake you, Pinky, but you looked so peaceful in your sleep. I didn't have the heart." I pouted.

She looked down on me, scornful and upset. I doubted she believed that. The girl wasn't stupid.

"Wanna come, Rich Girl?" Duncan offered.

Pinky perked up, clapping her hands together and bouncing in place. "I already have my bike out! Wait here!" And with that, she darted off towards the front of the school.

Trash Heap grinned at me. "You're girlfriend's cute."

I didn't even bother responding to that.

**[[a/n: i procrastinate a lot, even when it comes to things i want to do, so this chptr took me ages to finish. i hope it was worth the wait.]]**


	15. Chapter 15

**[[a/n: i still feel obligated to thank everyone for all the nice reviews/favs/follows so far. i appreciate every single one that i get. it means a lot to me to know that people actually like my work.]]**

Pinky may have been angry with me earlier, but for now, she was happy. And when Pinky was happy, everyone was allowed to be happy. Duncan did a fabulous job at appeasing her, and I don't even think it was intentional. Whether he knew it or not, he saved me from a long, angry lecture from Miss Gauthier that would have drastically hindered our performance. I could have thanked him if I wanted to.

But, for the obvious reasons, I didn't want to. So I didn't. Nor did I show him any signs of appreciation for anything he had done for me that night. He didn't deserve my kindness. It was because of his people that I was in this ridiculous situation in the first place.

Pinky and Duncan seemed to be getting along fairly well, more so because of her interest with lower class customs than anything else. She kept asking him stupid questions about life in the slums as we rode our bikes across the bridge into the sleeping Bullworth Town, and Duncan would answer as though he were enjoying the attention. Although I was quite disdainful with Pinky for taking such a keen interest in poor people, I hoped that Duncan at least realized how fortunate he was for her to be so enthralled with him.

But I doubted that. The way he spoke to her suggested that he viewed himself as her _equal_. How despicable.

"My father tells me that poor people have to hunt for food in their own backyards," Pinky began. "Is that true?" she pried, quite fascinated with the topic.

"Yeah, sometimes," Duncan answered casually with a shrug, not a trace of acknowledgment to the fact that someone of status was speaking to him in that gravelly voice of his.

I rolled my eyes. Surprisingly, Trash Heap was not at the root of my annoyance in that moment. Instead, it was Pinky. Now was not the time for interviewing the poor people. This was precisely why I didn't want her coming along. She was distracting us from our objective!

"Pinky, how did you even know where I would be?" I asked. It _was _quite strange of her to catch me mere moments before Duncan and I had left school grounds.

"I was following you." She spoke so innocently, as though it were normal to follow me around at this hour. "I woke up around midnight and snuck out after you. You could've closed the door a bit quieter, you know."

Damn. I did fear that I had been too loud after leaving.

Duncan led us down the dirt path behind the motel, around the most of New Coventry. It was much better to take that path, avoiding patrolling officers and any stray Greasers alike.

Somehow, I really wasn't surprised with Pinky's response. The fact that she had parked her bike neatly against the campus walls led me to believe that she had at least planned our encounter. A groan left my throat. "Pinky, that isn't appropriate," I scolded. "You can't follow people around during these late hours dressed in clothes only fit to sleep in. People may think you're some thug."

It was her turn to roll her eyes. "Gord, I don't wear clothes to bed," she chortled. "They're just for appearances. I sleep in the nude."

I grimaced. She knew better than to say such things out loud where some undesirable might hear! Who knows what perverted things a poor person might have done with that information?

Trash Heap smiled. "You're lucky you can do that. I have to sleep in my undies in case my brother walks in on me in the middle of the night."

Pinky laughed. "I used to do that, but every morning when I woke up-"

This wasn't a very classy conversation. I cleared my throat. "So, Pinky... what's in that bag of yours?"

She brightened. "Wanna see?"

The three of us stopped, Pinky hopping off of her bike seat to reach into the plastic bag on her shoulder. She dug around for a few brief seconds, ending with an 'a-ha!'. It felt as though she pulled out whatever was inside in slow motion. I wanted to tell her to hurry up, but at the same instance I feared to know what she was in possession of. She had been shocking me far more than usual lately, and I wanted to hold on to the tiny bit of innocence Pinky still maintained in my eyes.

(You know, that sounded much less obsessive in my head.)

I noticed she was grasping onto something, as one may hold the end of a baseball bat, and pulled the object out further to reveal a short wooden handle. It reminded me of one of our cricket bats. Once the object was completely revealed, she held it towards the sky, like a knight wielding his sword.

My jaw dropped. It _was _one of our cricket bats! What on Earth did she plan on doing with that?

"See, isn't this neat? I took this from Parker's room! I thought I'd bring it along in case we'd have to... you know..." She giggled. "...kick some plebeian ass."

I gasped, like a weak-hearted mother. What was happening to the sweet Pinky I once knew? "Pinky! First of all, don't say things like that! It isn't ladylike! Second, even if the Greaseballs were to threaten a fight, violence is _never _the answer!" I crossed my arms, satisfied with my speech.

Pinky lowered her bat. "Since when? We fight with the Greasers all the time!"

Duncan cut in. "Good thinking ahead, duder! You know how to use it?"

She nodded fervently. "Of course! I play cricket in the summer!" Pinky demonstrated by giving the bat a couple of strong - albeit uncoordinated - swings to the left and right. Her actions startled me drastically, causing me to flinch, but Duncan seemed to appreciate it, a big, stupid grin spread across his face. "I know it isn't '_ladylike_', Gord," Pinky said to me (well, more _at_ me), quotations implied. "But being 'ladylike' won't get Chad's bike back."

I was flustered. Where did _that _come from? I was simply reminding her that she had a status to worry about!

"That's the spirit, Rich Girl!" Trash Heap raised a fist to the air, shamelessly encouraging this behavior.

Pinky grinned as she slid the bat back into her bag, and the two of them started down the path once more, leaving me behind. Goodness, this was absolutely _insane_. I rolled my eyes so hard I thought for a second that they might have fallen out.

I sighed. At least it wouldn't last for much longer...

* * *

Our journey down the dirt path ended moments later, and like that we facing the road which led into Blue Skies. I felt so relieved. Though technically we were still in Greaser territory, we were far enough into the outskirts to avoid any confrontations. No Greasers would be out this far at such a late hour. There was practically nothing this way; there was no reason to be here.

At least, I _hoped _that would be the case.

We rode a bit further before I spotted Duncan's Townie friends down the road. They were standing around by the tenement next to the bridge, loitering in the same matter they would at the carnival. Henry, Omar, Gurney, and that other short one. Henry was sitting on the seat of a shiny blue bike which was slightly too short for him, idly chatting with his fellows. I breathed out, all of the weight on my shoulders instantly alleviated. That must have been Chad's bike. Good, so he had held up his part of our deal.

This nightmare seemed so easy to escape from it almost felt like a dream.

Pinky caught the attention of that Gurney, receiving a casual nod from him as a greeting. She waved back at him eagerly, blushing pink and giggling like a little girl. Pathetic. I elbowed her in the waist. She looked to me afterwards, more shocked than anything else. "Ow, don't do that, Gord!"

Hmph.

"Alright, dudes, we're almost done." Duncan hopped off of his bike, stepping a bit closer towards the other Townies. "Hey, Otto!" he called rather loudly to the group. He waved for the short one to come forward, and that Otto approached us in turn.

_Otto_. I scoffed internally. Where on Earth did these poor people come up with their names?

"It's about time you showed up," that Otto greeted Duncan once he was close enough. He nodded towards me, a flicker of hostility in his eyes. "Is that the schoolboy?"

Duncan didn't answer, merely gesturing the others over to our spot.

I shuddered as they approached us. They walked like savages, shoulders broad and heads low, like lurking predators. Henry held Chad's bike under his arm as though it were nothing, as a student may carry a particularly light textbook. For someone such as myself, they were a very humbling group of people. I was no longer the one in power here. They were so much larger than me, so much stronger.

I hadn't realized how much that actually frightened me until then. The _Townies_, the poorest people in Bullworth, had power over _me_. Maybe it was because we were in Greaser territory that it seemed so much more frightening? I also hadn't smoked in quite a while.

Yes, something like that.

Henry looked me over. "Got the bike, do ya?" he inquired. It was a rhetorical question, but I responded anyways.

I nodded, remaining silent, presenting the rusty vehicle to him by its handlebars. My heart was picking up pace. I feared they could see its pounding through the fabric of my shirt.

That Omar snorted. "You should give him his bike. He looks like he's aboutta piss his pants."

Henry set Chad's bike down on its wheels for me, and I gave him his in turn. "Pleasure doin' business with ya," he said with a smirk. The Townies turned around, back to Blue Skies, not another word more from them.

But Duncan stayed to give me a quick goodbye. "I'll see you around, dude." His voice was friendly and sweet compared to those of his friends. It was even somewhat comforting. He gave me a final grin before catching up with his group.

And that was it. They were finished, as was this situation. Never again would I have to do anything like this. Thank heavens.

Phew, alright. That was finally over with. Time to head back...

Wait.

I stopped, taking a minute to stare at the bike Henry had given me.

This wasn't right.

It _was_ a very nice bike, and it _did_ look rather expensive, but...

"This isn't Chad's bike!"

It was some mountain bike, very thick and heavy, and definitely _not_ an Aquaberry model. How could this be? He must have thought it'd be a clever idea to give me a much cheaper bike instead of Chad's expensive one, which he would then keep for himself. Despicable! Did he honestly think he could get away with something like this? Did he really think I wouldn't notice?

Pinky looked it over. "You're right!" She brought a finger to her chin, thoughtful. "Oh, well, he probably won't notice," she said with a shrug.

I hardly cared whether or not Chad noticed. What mattered was if Justin noticed. Justin ordered me to bring _Chad's_ bike back to Harrington House, not some random one that merely resembled his.

I wasn't in the mood to deal with any of this Townie nonsense. "Hey!" I called to them. They looked back at me, stopping in their tracks. A strong sense of annoyance washed over me. This was _not _acceptable. "This isn't the bike you took from us!"

They briefly looked to each other, collectively confused. Then Henry scowled, stepping towards me while leaving the others behind. "Whaddya mean that's not the bike?"

He thought he was intimidating, but he didn't scare me enough to keep my mouth shut. "I _mean,_ this isn't the one you stole from Harrington House! This is _not_ my friend's bike!" He must've been out of his mind to believe he could get away with something like that so easily.

Henry stepped even closer, close enough for me to feel his breath on my skin. I had definitely angered him. "Are you callin' me a liar, Rich Kid? I'm the one who took the damn thing, so I think I know if it's the bike I stole or not!"

"Ooh, you're in trouble now, boy!" Gurney shouted from the background.

Something in his voice translated honesty. It was cold and mean and violent, but somehow sincere underneath all of that. I softened, gazing down at the bike. I did believe him. I didn't _want _to believe him, because if he were telling the truth, that would mean my reputation was still at risk. But, I _did_ believe him. "Where did you get this from, then?"

"I took it from the school, Kid! Now stop askin' questions."

"Yes, I know that, but from _where _in the school?"

"Outside the gates. Stupid kids are always leavin' bikes there."

I furrowed my brows. "So you didn't actually enter the campus?"

Henry looked at me as though I were crazy. "I can't go on school grounds, Rich Boy. My parole officer'd kill me!"

So, if that were the case, there was no way Henry could have taken Chad's bike! "Well then... if _you _didn't take it, who did?"

"Aye!" someone shouted from behind our group. "What's with all the noise?"

"People are tryna sleep," came another.

I could recognize those hideous Italian-American accents anywhere.

I cringed. _Damn._


	16. Chapter 16

It was just one problematic situation after another. First crashing my bike, then Justin threatening to ruin my reputation, and now this? I had no idea what I had ever done to deserve such terrible things. Was it because I shoved Algernon into Damon's locker several weeks prior? Was it because I used to harass the homeless people back in freshman year? Was it because I went around telling everyone that Johnny Vincent was a hermaphrodite? Yes, I realized that I may have been a tad bit snobbish at times, but snobbery shouldn't have been punished with something like this. This was...

This was just cruel.

It almost felt as though someone were _forcing _these terrible things to happen to me for the sake of having a story to tell. What was I, some plot device?

Whatever the reason for my punishment, I wasn't prepared to lie down and take it. After all of what had recently happened, I was _not_ in the mood. I snarled, turning on my heels to face that damned Peanut. He was accompanied by Ricky, Hal, and Norton, leather clad scum with tightened fists and deepening scowls spread across their faces. Ordinarily they would have been a rather intimidating bunch, but I couldn't have been bothered to think about that. They didn't scare me, and I was ready to give them a piece of my mind.

I opened my mouth to speak, but before I was able to say anything, that Otto interrupted me with a click of his tongue. "Go to bed, you dumb kids! You have school tomorrow, goddamit!" For a small boy, he gave off overwhelming amounts of aggression. He was much more stern and threatening than I could ever be.

I closed my mouth. Perhaps it would have been better to let the Townies do the talking for me.

"Yeah, get lost, losers! We're in the middle of somethin'," Omar chimed in.

Those Townies seemed content with handling the Greaseballs themselves, stepping closer with every jeer. Perhaps this was a good thing.

Norton, being the largest of the Greasers, towered over that Otto. There was an unequivocal difference between them, with Otto about my size and Norton no less than six feet tall, but Otto held his ground with great strength. It seemed as though he were blind to their differences.

For anyone, not just someone of his size, he was belligerent, and I found it rather incredible.

The two of them stepped forward, far beyond invading each other's personal space.

"How many times to we gotta tell you douchebags to stay offa our turf, huh? Your dealers ain't around here," Norton spat.

"Get the hell outta my face!" Otto barked, shoving him as hard as a smaller boy could. With veins jutting from his neck and face turning red, it was no difficult task noticing that he was _not _happy.

Hal laughed. "Big talk from a skinny twerp like you."

_Skinny. _Otto didn't appear to like that word. It only angered him further. A fire ignited in his eyes and a growl sounded from between his gritted teeth. "_I'll kill you!_"

Gurney held him back by the collar of his shirt with ease, leaving him clawing the air in front of him as though that would bring him closer.

Peanut scoffed. "Yeah, okay." With an indifferent shrug, Romano directed his attention to me. "I thought I told you to stay away from our place, Gordy? You should know we don't want you wanderin' around down here."

This wandering nonsense again?

I was hoping to let the Townies take care of this, but I wasn't afraid of standing up for myself. I huffed. "First of all, Romano, I do _not _wander! Second, the only reason I came _here_, to your _slums_, was because I had business to attend to." I held my ground, crossing my arms over my chest. "And that business is none of yours. So if you'd be so kind..." I shooed at them, nose to the air.

"Yeah, you tell 'em, duder. Screw off, Greasy!" Duncan added with a confident smirk, stepping to my side to place an arm around my shoulders.

I couldn't help but groan. "It really isn't necessary for you to get involved, you know," I grumbled.

Ricky eyed the two of us, brows furrowed. "So you guys are like an item or somethin'?" he inquired, waving a finger between us.

I almost choked. "_What_? No! We're not even-"

We weren't even friends!

"Stop changing the subject and get out of here!" Pinky interrupted me, a sharp bite in her tone. "You're embarrassing yourselves!"

Peanut turned to her, grinning widely. "Oh, yeah? And what're you gonna do if we don't, princess?" He laughed, looking back to the Townies, completely disregarding her as though she were nothing.

Oh, dear. I knew where this was going.

Whenever someone didn't take Pinky's demands seriously, the situation was always predestined to end poorly for them. She flushed red, fists clenching at her sides. I knew she wasn't used to this. People _always _did as she told them. Otherwise, there were consequences.

That was the way it worked. In Pinky's mind, it was a rule. And rule breakers were punished.

I watched as the Townies and Greasers continued their quarrel, when I heard the sound of rustling plastic from behind me. I was afraid to look back; I knew what to expect. But I did, and as predicted, she was pulling that cricket bat from her bag. "Pinky!" I hissed. "What on Earth do you think you're doing with that?"

Of course I knew what she was planning on doing. Part of me wanted to stop her, but the most of me wanted to witness a Greaser's pain. For this I didn't attempt to calm her down. This would be much too amusing.

She stormed over to him, and Peanut had absolutely no time to react.

_Whack._

I cringed. The way she had hit him looked unbearably painful. A direct blow to the side of his head was all it took for him to fall to the ground with a loud thud, moaning and sobbing in pain.

And just like that, everyone went silent, staring down at the injured Peanut in shock.

Duncan laughed. "Nice, dude!" he said, punching the infuriated Pinky in the shoulder.

Norton snarled. "That does it!"

And that was how the fight started. Norton threw himself onto Otto, hitting hard against the ground, and wailed on him with those huge fists as I knew he had probably wanted to from the very beginning.

That Henry stepped forward to intervene, his clenched fists practically the size of my head, to deliver a powerful blow to the side of Norton's jaw, thus knocking him off of that Otto.

Omar and Ricky then decided to have at each other. Their fighting skills seemed to be evenly matched, but Omar's durability far surpassed that of Ricky's. Ricky was beginning to show signs of tiring after a mere minute into the fray. It was becoming painful to watch as his punches grew weaker and weaker.

Otto stood up hastily, bruised and beaten and nose running red, as though no one had ever laid a hand on him. "Yeah, stay down, you little prick!" he yelled as he kicked and punched the downed Norton.

Gurney laughed. "We're gonna smell like garbage after we're done kicking your butts!" he taunted before pulling Hal in for a headbutt.

It soon progressed into complete chaos. Punches and jeers were thrown without care from every direction. I could no longer keep track of it.

Yes, it was _definitely _time to make our exit.

Pinky made an attempt at joining the fray with her bat, but luckily I managed to seize her by the arm before she made it far. "Pinky! No! We are getting out of here!" I ordered as I pushed her to her bike.

Naturally, she struggled. "Gord! No, I wanna help them!"

"I don't care! We're leaving!"

_Smack._

I heard myself hit the ground before I actually felt it.

* * *

I had no clue what had happened, but when I finally pried open my eyes I was only able to comprehend two details of my situation: it was quiet, only the distinctive New Coventry sounds audible, and Duncan was leaning over me, dominating my view.

Until I noticed the throbbing pain at the base of my skull.

I moaned, flat and dull. I was lying on my back in a state of confusion, much like the day when I first crashed my bike.

"He's alive!" Duncan laughed. He sounded surprised. Relieved, even, as though he weren't expecting me to wake up. "Are you okay, dude? That looked like it hurt..."

In my mind, I assured him that I was fine, but the words left my mouth as an obscure mess. As much as I wanted to sit up and inquire, I couldn't. It felt as though there was a weight on my chest keeping me pinned to the ground.

But when I looked down, I realized it was merely Duncan's hand.

"Oops, sorry, dude," he said as he lifted his palm.

I sat up slowly to take in my surroundings, my hand keeping my head balanced. Despite the dizziness, I was able to make out the fact that it was just Trash Heap and I, alone behind one of the tenements. No Pinky, no Townies, no Greasers. Just the two of us.

That... made me uncomfortable. What were we doing here?

"Wha-" This was all so confusing. "What the hell happened?"

He grinned. "Your girlfriend put the hurt on you, that's what happened."

"What?" _Pinky _had hit me? Of all people? The last thing I remembered was seating myself atop that mountain bike... "That is ridiculous, Trash Heap." ...with Pinky waiting behind me.

While holding a cricket bat.

After I had forbade her from entering the fight, something she wanted to do.

I paused.

Oh.

I huffed. Still, that was _completely _unacceptable. "Well, I will _definitely _have a word with her about that tomorrow!" I stated.

Duncan grinned. "Yeah, well, don't go too hard on her. You're okay, right?"

I glanced at my watch, taking much longer than it should have to read the time. "It's three-thirty in the morning?!" I practically shrieked. "How long was I out?"

"About two hours."

_Two hours? _"You waited here with me for two hours?"

He nodded.

"And you couldn't have taken me to a health clinic or anything?"

"I, uh..." Trash Heap rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't want you to get in trouble for being out after curfew, Rich Boy." He laughed innocently.

What a blatant lie. I scowled at him, standing up far too quickly for my own good.

My head was still throbbing terribly; an aching pain which left me fighting for dominance over my balance.

Duncan scrambled to stand after me, desperately steadying me by my shoulders. "Whoa! Calm down, dude! Don't knock yourself out again!" He chuckled, but the legitimate worry lining his voice was obvious. "Here, I'll get'cha back to school, how's that sound?"

"Don't. I'm perfectly capable of walking there myself," I assured him. I did my best to maintain a steady tone, but my swaying legs worked against me.

"Like hell you are. C'mon, I'll keep you safe."

And he did. We returned to the campus the same way we came, Duncan propping me back onto my feet each time I was at risk of collapsing. He explained everything that I missed; after Pinky knocked me out, a man that he and his friends apparently hated named Mihailovich had called the police, and the group dispersed.

He assured me Pinky went back to school. I was angry with her, but it relieved me to know that she was safe.

And that Henry had taken both bikes with him. Bastard.

So I had absolutely nothing to show for any of this. Fabulous.

When we finally reached the gates, Duncan was clearly prepared to leave me, but I wasn't quite ready to let him go yet.

"Alright, Rich Boy, get to sleep. You got school tomorrow, you know," he said with a smile.

I was thoroughly confused. I knew why the Greasers and the Townies had left, but why hadn't Duncan left along with them?

"Duncan, before you go..."

His attention was all mine.

"...I don't understand. Why on Earth did you stay with me after everyone else had left? For _two hours_? You could have gotten arrested, you know!" I furrowed my brows, extending my arms to either side to channel my confusion.

He snorted. "Did you wanna stay there alone?"

"Well, of course not! But... why? Why didn't you leave? I don't..."

Duncan shrugged. "Well, because you said we were friends, and I wanted to make sure you were alright," he replied, his expression soft, yet undoubtedly serious.

I stared for a moment with Duncan staring back, neither one of us saying or doing anything. It was so quiet, but it was a comfortable quiet. I softened. A laugh came from my direction, but it took a moment for me to realize it was my own. "Duncan, I wasn't..."

...I wasn't serious when I had said that. But right then and there, it never felt more true. He stayed to watch over me, like some protector. And he didn't even have anything to gain from it.

Duncan protected me because he _wanted_ to. Because he thought we were _friends_.

He smirked. "Go to bed," he said before turning away.

I stared after him, at a loss for thoughts.

_I said we were friends._

But... I mean...

...I wasn't serious when I had said that.


	17. Chapter 17

Part Two

The reason I was friends with my fellow Preps was because they were my people. We all lived a common lifestyle in which we could relate. We were rich; we had status. We lived off of our fathers' salaries, never having to work for our own. We spent our days in private dormitories during the school years, and spent our summers in vacation houses along the beaches of Nantucket or Cape Cod. We had all grown up together. We were _supposed _to be friends.

That was the way it worked. That was the reason behind the Greasers' friendships with one another, the Jocks', the Nerds', and the Bullies'. The members of each clique had things in common, hence the point behind forming cliques. They possessed similarities.

The Townies were friends because they had come from similar backgrounds. They were all poor and stupid and had nothing in life to be proud of. They lived in trailers and only showered bi-weekly and would probably spend the rest of their lives in this town, should they avoid being arrested. They lived off of welfare checks and ate microwavable dishes for every meal. They were nobodies, our polar opposites.

So Duncan and I, friends? That was beyond ridiculous. He was ridiculous for believing such a thing. We were completely incompatible to be anything more than acquaintances, and even that may have been a stretch.

Despite our incompatibilities, his kind never ceased to interest me. Of course I wasn't completely entranced by poor people like Pinky, but I'd gladly admit that they were rather intriguing. My reason behind dating that strumpet Lola was a bit deeper than simply failing to understand my sexuality at the time. It was a thrill being with someone underprivileged and trashy. It was fascinating being around someone so different, someone with a rather offensive taste in perfume and a fashion sense leagues below the line of adequacy.

It was fun. Although I doubted I'd ever do it again, I did enjoy spending time with someone of the lower class.

As Pinky might have put it, it made me feel '_authentic_'.

But with Duncan, it wasn't anything like that. He was nothing more than a worker to me, an employee (and an incompetent one at that). I paid him to perform a service and that's all I ever wanted from him. That isn't how friendships are initiated. Friendships are started based off of common interests, or lifestyle similarities. I wasn't supposed to befriend someone like him. It didn't work that way.

But clearly he saw nothing wrong with the idea. Typical low class. What did he know about status and reputation and keeping the cliques in order?

Oh, well. At least he was avoidable. He may have thought of us as friends, but he certainly had no way of being in contact with me. The only time I ever saw him was at the carnival when I needed a pack of cigarettes.

Or, apparently, when I was about to crash my bike.

I moaned once the realization struck me and cursed under my breath.

_Justin, Chad's bike, my reputation..._ My thoughts drifted off.

It was far too early the following Monday morning to be concerned with such things, but I couldn't prevent it. Lying awake in bed with a dull ache at the base of my skull, staring blankly at the sponge textured ceiling with nothing to comfort me besides my own anxiety-ridden thoughts, and they weren't doing very good at the job. I just wanted to disappear.

I had just gone through all of that nonsense for nothing. I left empty handed, with not even a bike that _resembled _Chad's to show for it. That whole thing was a complete and utter waste of time.

It was around eight o'clock when my eyelids forced themselves to pull apart. I didn't really wake up so much as I did merely come into consciousness. I was still exhausted and in pain from the previous night, unable to force myself to rise from bed. I knew it would be completely impossible to make it to my classes that day, so I decided on the idea of having Pinky pay the teachers off for me.

_Pinky._

My supposed best friend who had assaulted me last night.

Another moan left my lips as I rubbed my eyes with the palms of my hands. What on Earth was I going to do about Pinky? What was getting in to her? She must have felt pressured to act out due to the presence of those damned Townies, poor girl.

Still, it was a completely unacceptable thing to do, and I needed to have a talk with her about what happens to young ladies who should exhibit such deplorable behavior.

A knock sounded at my door. "Gord, are you there?" came a voice from the other side. "Come on, we'll be late!"

I physically could not move. "Tad," I called back. "Come here."

He opened the door to let himself in, fully dressed and freshly groomed, dropping his jaw and throwing an arm to the side upon noticing I was still in bed. "You aren't even up yet! Class starts in an hour, and you should know how long it takes yourself to get ready."

I motioned him forward with a single finger, like an overly dramatic hospital patient on his deathbed waiting to make his final requests. He obliged, taking a seat at my side on the edge of the bed. "I can't go today," I told him flatly. "I just can't."

He knitted his brows, leaning down as if to communicate with me better. "Are you sick or something?" he asked, hushed and careful.

"Uh..." Of course he had no clue what had happened the night prior. "...Yes."

He snorted suddenly, lifting himself from my mattress. "Alright, well, I'll be sure to let the teachers know that you've taken ill." He grinned smugly.

I was becoming much too familiar with that particular grin. What did he know?

I propped myself up slowly, ignoring the throbbing pain at the base of my head. He knew _something_. I narrowed my eyes at him. "What are you grinning about, Spencer?"

He bit his lower lip, as though he were trying to suppress a smile, and failing largely. "Pinky told me she beat you up last night."

I almost gasped, but instead settled on a roll of my eyes. "She did _not _beat me up, Tad!" My voice cracked, adding to his amusement. "She hit me with a cricket bat! It was a _very _unfair way to knock me out!" I touched my injured head to emphasize my pain.

"Whatever you say, my man. I wasn't there." He laughed, like someone who'd just been told a casual story.

I almost growled. "This is _not _funny, Tad Spencer! Pinky should not be behaving in this manner. We were raised better than to assault our own kind!"

Still, that stupid smug grin stretched across his face.

I groaned. There was no getting through to him, was there? "Just... tell everyone I'm sick or something, okay?"

He gave me a nonchalant salute with his first two fingers. "I'll do just that."

I huffed, dropping back down onto my mattress. "Very good. Now, if you'd be so kind." I shooed him towards the hall. I wasn't in the mood to endure his company any longer.

He made his way towards the exit, pausing in the doorway. "Please try to recover by this evening, Gordo. Justin wants us all to hang out." Before I had any chance to inquire, he shut the door behind him, loafers clicking firmly down the oak floored hall.

I grimaced. Damned Vandervelde. He probably just wanted to humiliate me in front of everyone.

For the first time in my life, I welcomed greater pain.


	18. Chapter 18

Upon further interrogation of Tad later that morning, I learned that it was actually Chad's idea for us all to get together, not Justin's. Chad had invited Tad, Pinky, Justin, and a few others, but not me. It was Justin who wanted me to join.

I knew just what he was up to. Surely he figured it would be the perfect opportunity to humiliate me in front of everyone. All of the Preps would be there at The Vale Centennial Garden, and Justin could easily expose my dirty secrets to them. He'd seize me by the shoulders and call for the others to form a circle around us, where he'd then tell them everything. Vandervelde probably had photos, written reports, and witnesses prepared, and honestly, I couldn't think of any way I could possibly retaliate.

They'd all point and laugh at me, calling me filthy names, and perhaps even kick me from the clique in their storm of hatred. I felt so ashamed, and it hadn't even happened yet.

Perfect, indeed.

I remained in my room until around four, lying in bed while fruitlessly attempting to take my mind off of my reputational fate, when Tad had burst in and demanded I get out of bed to be social. He pulled me out of my covers by the arm, ignoring the fact that I had purposely gone limp in his grip as a form of lazy rebellion.

"Okay, Gord," he began sternly once he was able to stand me up on my feet. The pain at the base of my head was the least of my issues at that moment. "You _are _going to go out and have a good time tonight, whether you like it or not."

I glared at him. For such a good friend of mine, he was being notably irritating. "Why are you doing this to me?" Tad certainly knew damn well that Justin was not my favorite person to be around. What reason could he possibly have to do this to me?

"Because you've been in your room all day long, and I'm worried about your mental health."

_Hmph_. If he were truly concerned with my mental health, he wouldn't be dragging me out of the sanctity of my bedroom to be around that Vandervelde. I rolled my eyes. "Just let me rest for a few more minutes," I moaned, attempting to make it back to my mattress.

No such luck. Tad seized me by the wrist, forcing me to face him once again. "There'll be plenty of time to rest after we get back from hanging out tonight."

I could have sobbed.

Tad was ruthless. He abrasively ordered me to pick out a nice outfit for our outing and practically threw me into the shower afterwards (going so far as to wait in the bathroom with me to ensure I wasn't doing something off task, and even smelling my hair when I was done). I bathed quickly, taking no time to be thorough, and I couldn't be bothered to use any conditioner.

He threatened to yell at me should I keep up my resistance, but continued to remind me of how good looking I could be if I actually tried, as though that would encourage me. But not even something as thrilling as getting dressed up or grooming myself could bring my mood to an appropriate level that day.

When I was finished putting on my outfit, compared to my ordinary self, I looked unkempt. I didn't bother to tuck in my shirt or put on a tie, I chose an out of season pair of shoes, and I left my watch on the dresser. I looked sloppy, almost as sloppy as Hopkins. I was lacking the willpower to make myself look high class, or to even try to be happy at all. I couldn't help but be unenthusiastic.

This was it for me. It all ended here. And because of this, I saw no point in doing anything productive or fun. Who would?

I emerged from my closet several minutes after getting clothed, taking a much shorter amount of time than I usually would have. On a regular day, I'd take into consideration every possible outfit combination that I could make and try them all on to see which one I liked the best. But right then, I didn't care.

Tad looked me over, a slight grimace on his face. It was clear that he didn't think I looked my best. "Uh, alright then..."

I sighed. "Yes, I know. I look absolutely _stunning_, don't I?"

He scratched the back of his head, forcing himself to find a compliment to give me. "Well, at least you won't get taken into the station for indecent exposure." He laughed, honest and bold, as though this were somehow funny.

I glowered at him. Oh yes, it was almost as though this were the funniest thing in the world.

* * *

I was growing fairly used to that spot between peoples' handlebars. What was once cold and uncomfortable, I was subtly becoming more and more accustomed with. Tad's handlebars were much more preferable compared to Duncan's. Unlike Duncan's bike (or rather, whoever the bike originally belonged to), it didn't leave the seat of my pants coated in chipped paint or rust like an old fence. Tad took good care of his bicycles, and when he was unable to do so, he went out and bought a new one.

A brand new bike, not a bike from a brand new person.

Still, I felt odd. We didn't receive any elongated stares, but several townspeople did stop to look our way, probably confused as to why someone like me needed to sit on these handlebars rather than ride a bike of his own. It was a bit embarrassing, having to resort to such things due to my lack of personal bike. But it wasn't unbearable.

Now, if someone were to see me riding my Townie friend's handlebars, that would most certainly ruin me.

Er, I mean, Trash Heap's handlebars. Not _my Townie friend._ I silently cursed him for embedding such an idea within my subconscious.

The Vale Centennial Garden was right next to the Spencer Estate and served as a great meeting point for our clique when the beach was too crowded, or when Tad's father was having a meltdown and wouldn't let us inside their house. It wasn't a popular place for us to hang out, but it was a nice area for when there weren't any better spots.

Pinky was there to meet us at the front entrance, a smile spread across her face and a sparkle of happiness in her eyes. "Tad, you did it!" she said ecstatically as we dismounted from his bike. "I didn't think you'd be able to coax him out of that room of his!"

She was her usual happy, bubbly, lovable self, but I was still angry with her for assaulting me last night. I glared at her, although she didn't appear to notice.

Tad laughed. "Well, it wasn't easy." He slapped me on my back, causing me to flinch. "But ol' Gordo is always up for a chance to get all gussied up, you know him."

Pinky smiled at that, looking over my appearance afterwards. "Well, why didn't you let him get gussied up, then?"

Tad snorted, and the two of them laughed together. My two best friends, mocking me at a time like this.

I almost growled. "Oh, yes, ha-ha! Laugh it up, you two! I'm in the midst of an emotional crisis and all you think to do is laugh at me? What is this?"

Pinky gathered herself. "Oh, hush. Anyways, Justin is looking for you, Gord. He wants to talk."

I sighed. Fantastic.

"Hey everyone!" Tad called as the three of us entered the park together. I didn't want any attention put on me, especially not when I looked like this, and I figured that was already perfectly clear, but my sod of a friend practically demanded that all eyes were focused on us. "Look who I managed to find!" He slapped me on the chest with the back of his hand, chuckling before making eye contact with me.

I was _not _enjoying this one bit, and I didn't even have to try to get my face to show that.

Tad's smile quickly diminished with one look at my expression, and he cleared his throat before leading me by the arm over to Justin, who was shooting hoops by himself while idly talking with Bryce on the side.

Chad was lounging on the benches and chatting with Parker, seeming relaxed and at ease, but looked up to shoot me a dirty look as we walked further into the park. My chest tightened. Justin had probably already told him that I stole his bike or something, the prat. I was beginning to feel sick.

"Hey, Justin," Tad called. "Guess who made it!" He presented me to Vandervelde, and I wearily obliged. "It's Gord! He got all dressed up just for the occasion."

Oh, shut up already.

Justin turned to face me, grinning widely, his basketball tucked under his arm. That grin of his transitioned into an amused grimace upon looking over my appearance. "I can see that."

"We'll leave you two alone," Pinky said as they dismissed themselves.

Fabulous. We were alone.

I couldn't find the strength to make eye contact with Vandervelde, who was looking down on me with an air of contempt. I felt like he expected me to say something, to greet him, to ask why I was here, but nothing came from me.

He finally sighed. "Would you care to go for a walk?" he offered.

With no response, I followed Justin out the west exit of the park, towards the path in front of Tad's house.

* * *

Neither of us were eager to break the silence as we walked, my head hanging towards the ground and Justin's hands in his pockets, dragging his feet lazily. It was an uncomfortable silence, nerving and tense. Well, at least on my part.

I kept glancing over to Vandervelde, who didn't appear to be affected by the quiet. He looked calm, perhaps even a bit bored.

This was useless.

"So..." I might as well. "Pinky says you'd like to talk with me about something."

Justin looked towards me, taking a deep breath as though he were bracing himself for what was soon to be said.

That took me by surprise. I had expected him to smirk at my statement, to laugh cunningly or give me some snarky comment. _'Ah, yes, that...' _was what I had anticipated to hear from him. That would have been predictable. But his unexpected action made me anxious. What could possibly be said that Justin Vandervelde couldn't even smirk at?

"Look..." He came to a halt, taking me by the shoulders to get me to stop with him. "I'm not going to tell anyone anything, okay?"

Those words took me a moment to process, but when they finally did, my heart skipped a beat. Was he serious? How could this be? "Y-You're not?"

He let go of me, looking away as if he were ashamed. "No..."

What... was going on?

"Listen, Chad and I were able to work out our differences, so I have no reason to expose you to everyone and humiliate you." He grinned. "Besides, I think Pinky humiliated you enough last night, anyways."

Damn it. "Pinky did not _humiliate_ me last night, Vandervelde. She hit me with a cricket bat! It was a cheap shot!"

Justin snorted. "That isn't what she told me."

"Well, whatever she told you, she was being insincere!" I turned away from him, arms crossed and nose to the air. "And I was never worried about you. I went through all that because I simply wanted Chad to get his bike back. Nothing you could do would _ever_ humiliate me."

"So, does that mean you'd be okay with me telling everyone everything?" I could feel him smirking behind me.

My eyes widened. "Well, I never said that..."

Vandervelde chuckled. "Tell you what, Gord. This is childish. Let's just forget that any of this had ever happened. Sound fair?"

I turned back to look at him, meeting with an extended palm welcoming mine to shake. Although I had no reason to, I trusted his words. "Well, okay, I suppose," I concluded, sealing our deal with my hand in his.

He let go of my palm, not even bothering to wait until I was out of sight to wipe it on his sweater. I internally groaned.

"Anyways, even if Pinky hadn't humiliated you last night like you said, you can be certain that your clothes are doing that for her."

I scowled at him. After all that, he still had the nerve to be disrespectful towards me? "Shut up, Vandervelde!"


End file.
